#slaps top of thistle's head | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stobinesque · 2 years ago

Text

let me be the void you fill, pt. 1

@steddie-week day 4: familiar | ~2k words | Teen and up title from "I / Me / Myself" by Will Wood

On his way up the path to the small hut he’d gotten Dustin to draw a crude map to, Steve was stopped in his tracks by a lanky black cat that appeared out of nowhere—and then promptly proceeded to wind her way between his legs.

"Well hello there," he said, bending down to extend his hand towards her nose.

The cat gave his fingers one short, decisive sniff, before bumping her head against them, and resuming her circuitous turn betwixt his ankles.

Steve laughed. "So you mean to hold me hostage, then, is that it?"

The cat paused to look up at him, features set into what Steve guessed would be a look of utter disdain on a human.

"Okay, okay, bad joke, huh?" The cat slipped out from under his feet just long enough for Steve to crouch all the way down and present his palm to her again. The cat purred this time, and nudged her head up against his palm more firmly, staying still long enough to allow him to pet the top of her head, and scratch behind her ears. "I'm Steve," he offered. "And what's your name, pretty girl?"

"Miriam? Miriam! Where did you run off—oh."

Steve startled at the sudden sound, and glanced up from where the cat was now enthusiastically petting herself against him, to find a witch of about his own height rushing out the hut’s front door. They sported a head full of riotous brown curls, atop which sat a stout, felted witch's hat. In spite of the unseasonable heat, the theurgist was dressed in heavy, ruffled black skirts, and colorfully patched stockings. That had to be why their cheeks were flushed such a pretty shade of pink, right?

Steve pulled himself back up to a standing position, shaking his head as though to clear it of cobwebs. He snapped his mouth shut when he realized it had dropped open of its own accord, and glanced back down at the cat, now rubbing herself up against one leg. "So your name is Miriam?" he asked her.

The cat let out a small merp in reply, as her owner—companion?—continued to stand and stare at Steve from a few steps up the path.

🐈‍⬛🪄🔮✨🌕🧹🧙

Eddie's day had begun with a series of inauspicious events.

To start with, she had forgotten to leave fir curtains parted in just the right way before bed the night before. So instead of gradually rising with the sun as it crept in on hazy bands of light, fee'd been slapped in the face by the full force of its rays at entirely too early an hour.

And then, when she'd gone out to fetch the laundry, it was to find every single article of clothing still damp—or worse—in spite of the unusually dry heat they’d been having. That left fir with only a pair of (thankfully) threadbare, but (unfortunately) black woolen stockings, a black linen smock, and a set ruffled skirts—of which the relative breeze allowed by its shortened length at the front, was offset by the sheer quantity of its layers—to wear for the day. (The stockings, he supposed, could have been forgotten. But Eddie found themself wandering through thistle paths far too often, and unexpectedly, to not wear something on her legs every day.)

To make matters worse, the moment Miriam’d heard Eddie knocking about, she'd gone ahead and toppled over one of the cauldrons, in a way that signified today was to be a potion-making day.

Great, so I'm going to be a puddle by midday.

Most days, Eddie could choose the direction of fir practice. But sometimes, for one reason or another—a particular rhyme of the chimes hanging in zir window, the moon hanging low and large and bloody in the night sky, a particular scent in the air—the animus of the world nudged her in a particular direction.

Those days, invariably, sucked.

But still, Eddie bustled around the small cottage—grabbing roots, and herbs, and carefully preserved insect matter—preparing for the day's task. The draught that Eddie felt fumself pushed to brew today was technically complicated, time consuming, and required the assistance of another set of hands.

Which would be fine. If his familiar hadn't scampered off moments after knocking over the cauldron that morning.

Eddie searched high and low, and into every nook and cranny of the cramped hut—which did not want for hiding places, despite its small footprint—for his erstwhile familiar. Eventually, he had to admit defeat, and determined that she must have gone for a laze about the garden beds—even though she knew full well that they were off limits.

"Miriam?" Eddie called out as he pushed his way outside. Usually the one call was enough to have her trotting back home immediately, shame-faced and caught out. But in keeping with the day’s pattern, nothing was to be so easy. "Miriam!" Eddie called again, growing a touch frustrated. "Where did you run off t—oh."

Eddie came to an abrupt halt just a few steps up the path from their hut, shocked still by the sight of Miriam letting someone other than themself touch her. And it wasn't just any someone. It was perhaps the most gorgeous someone Eddie had ever laid eyes on: soft brown hair that glinted gold in the sunlight, pretty pink lips rounded into a perfectly round 'O' that just begged to have something shoved between them, and…and Eddie really needed to reign in the excesses of hir thoughts.

The honey-haired visitor straightened to a standing position and looked down at Miriam with a sweet smile on their face. "So your name is Miriam?" he asked, receiving a soft chirp of confirmation from Miriam in reply. It brought Eddie up short—most strangers didn’t address Miriam directly. Who was this person? Eddie shook his head, honing in on the most mysterious part of the tableau in front of him.

"She's letting you pet her," he marveled. "I think the last person who tried nearly got his arm chewed off for the trouble." Eddie tilted her head and looked the stranger up and down in a way that he knew would be taken for the blatant assessment it was. "She must like you." And Eddie knew that if Miriam trusted someone, then if nothing else, he should trust her—but, well: see above, re: day of inauspicious beginnings. "So what's your name, stranger?" He added just a touch of suspicion to his tone.

"Steve," came the swift reply, immediately followed with an outstretched hand, in spite of the several paces of distance still separating the two of them. "Of the town of Haring," Steve continued. As he spoke, Miriam came slinking back towards Eddie, and settled into a seated position between his feet, gaze fixed intensely at Steve.

"Okay, Steve of Haring." Eddie propped a hand on one hip, still trying to figure out what to make of this visitor. Everything about his day up ‘til now suggested there was something more going on here than met the eye. Even Miriam seemed to think so, if the way she was staring fixedly at Steve’s chest was anything to go by. But Miriam was also clearly fond of this stranger, after only moments of interaction. So there was probably nothing to fear from Steve themself, and, oh, he really needed to confirm how he should be constructing his internal narration regarding this creature— "So how else do you like to be referred to, Steve?"

"Huh?" Steve’s brow furrowed in confusion.

"Well, I can't very well keep going around calling you 'the stranger' in my head now, can I?"

Steve shrugged. "You could just think of me as ‘Steve,’" Steve said with an adorable little head tilt.

"This is true, but it does get repetitive after a while. Which, of course, is alright, if that’s what you prefer. But I usually find that a pronoun or two often helps things along."

"Oh!" Steve snapped their fingers and pointed at Eddie with excitement at their sudden understanding. "You can use ‘he’ and ‘him’ and stuff to think and talk about me. That's what everyone else does."

"And…is that what you want everyone else to do?"

Steve shrugged. "I don't really care, I suppose. It's just…easier this way."

Eddie frowned. "And you don't think that's boring? Why limit yourself to the confines of expectation if it doesn't make you happy?"

Steve blew a gust of air between his lips and ran a hand through his hair. "I guess you could say that's part of why I'm here, really."

Eddie raised a brow. "Oh?"

Steve waved a hand as though to bat the matter away as unimportant. "Yeah, but we're getting ahead of ourselves." Steve crossed his arms over his chest and regarded Eddie with an interest all his own. "How should I be thinking about you?"

Eddie flipped a lock of hair over one shoulder, and tossed zir sauciest smile Steve's way. "You can think of me any way you like, handsome."

The bright pink flush that swept across Steve's face—and the awkward stammering that followed—were truly the highlight of Eddie's day thus far. (Unfortunately, that was an embarrassingly low bar to clear—but, on the other hand, Steve's blush-and-stammer combo had just set it at a lifetime high. Ah, Life and Her various vagaries.)

"That's not what I meant "

"Oh I know, stranger. But that is the answer to what you did mean, anyhow, so it didn't seem prudent to pass up such a delicious opportunity to be a shameless flirt."

Steve wrinkled his nose. "Charming."

"Why yes, that is one of the things you could call me," Eddie shot back with an impish grin.

Steve laughed. "You're a bit of an asshole, aren't you?"

"I've been called worse," fee replied with a small shrug. "...and a lot better," she added with an exaggerated wink.

"Okay, but, really, how should I—? What should I—?"

Eddie waved a dismissive hand of their own. "Think of—and refer to—me however you like: he, them, hers, zir," Eddie shrugged. "It's all the same to me. Though I must confess I've grown partial to ‘fee, fi, fo, fum’."

The bright, bursting bubble of a giggle this provoked could have fueled Eddie's strongest cheering charm. "You can't be serious!"

"Deadly so, I'm afraid. Although in practice it’s more like ‘fee, fum, fir, fos’."

"Hmmm, okay. I like it." Steve reached up to tuck his hair back behind both ears at once. "What about your name?"

"What of it, pretty boy?" Eddie asked, just to see the rosy blush spread across the apples of Steve's cheeks again.

"Could I have it?"

"Could you have it? What, to keep? Are you a faerie, Steve? If you're a faerie you have to tell me, or else it's entrapment."

"No, I'm not a faerie. But I'm also pretty sure that's not how any of that works."

"That sounds exactly like something a faerie would say," Eddie shot back, jabbing an accusatory finger Steve’s way.

Steve shook his head, but there was a delighted grin on his face and a soft chuckle rising from his throat. "I just want to stop having to cycle through various iterations of 'hot witch,' in my own thoughts," he admitted.

"Oooh, well now I'm curious—how dirty and creative did you get there?"

Steve's smile shifted into something more like a smirk. "Mmm…'beddable horror specks'?"

Eddie threw his head back in a wild laugh that sent fir hat flying. "I think you mean haruspex—which isn't accurate, anyway; I prefer not to go around reading rabbit entrails—but that was good!"

"And?" Steve asked with a wheedling-but-cheery, sort of tone. "Could I get a name in reward? Something to call you by, in the heat of the moment?"

"Well, I must confess that now I'm even more curious about what you’d come up with if left to your own devices—but I suppose if you must have something to scream into the rafters while I ravish you: Eddie, son and/or daughter and/or corrupted offspring of the Moon, at your service." Hat no longer on her head to tip in Steve direction, Eddie instead swept down into a low bow, one arm extended out toward Steve in invitation.

stay tuned for part two tomorrow!

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #genderqueer eddie munson #steddieweek2023 #steddie week #steddie witch familiar au #huzzah! an entry posted reasonably well before midnight!#believe it or not this was not MEANT to become a fic about gender and pronouns and names #and yet here we are #I had the thought “fee/fi/fo/fum would make good pronouns”#immediately followed by the thought “Eddie would do that”#and I was RIGHT #part two is underway and is uhhhhh not this lighthearted thus far #(it will at worst have an open-but-hopeful ending though)#also the world building here is all vibes and no rules #read writes

92 notes · View notes

afterthegreatunknown · 1 year ago

Text

Randomity: Never Underestimate the Power of a Computer Hint

[The AO3 link is here]

“Hey Fiona, do you know the computer password?”

Isadora sticks her head inside Fiona’s bedroom. The older girl is currently lying on her bed, flipping the pages of her history book on a chapter Isadora has no idea what it’s about, taking notes in her spiral notebook. Judging from image of two people in a carriage, with another person pulling a gun on them, it might be the chapter that covers World War One.

“I do, but why ask me about it, as if you don’t know what the password is,” says Fiona, not looking up from the history book. “Hector, Fernald, and my stepfather know it, since they set it up. Quigley was able to use two weeks ago to print something off for his Spanish class. And Duncan used it just last month to research something about The Thistle of the Valley incident.”

“If you’re think one of brothers told me, they didn’t. My brothers are still brothers who like to see their sister suffer sometimes,” answers Isadora. “Neither one of them told me it.”

Fiona snaps her head upward. “Really? That makes a bit of a difference then.”

“Are you going to tell me the password then?”

“Depends on why you’re asking me for the password. Was there not a hint regarding the password? I know there was a hint the last time I used it.”

“How is ‘Look down from the top, at three you’ll stop. It’s six long, you can’t get it wrong,’ a hint? An apparent hint that are in two freaking couplets!” Isadora throws her hands up into the air, and then brings her thumb and forefinger together. “I’m these seconds away to losing it, Fiona.”

“Well, I can’t have that happening on my watch,” says Fiona, sitting upward on her bed now. She takes off her glasses, and wipes them with her shirt. “Do calm down, Isadora. I’ll tell you the password. But be warn. You’ll might slap your palm to your forehead when hearing it.”

“I serious doubt it,” says Isadora, giving the older girl a smile. “With a hint that ridiculous, the password must be something that has to be told from the get-go. So, care to tell me it?”

Fiona closes her eyes, and gives a deep sigh. “…Qwerty. The password is Qwerty.”

Isadora stops her smiling. She opens her mouth, but no words came out. Qwerty. Qwerty. QWERTY. Isadora couldn’t help but slap her palm to her forehead, as Fiona said. “Son of a bitch! It’s telling me to stop at row three when looking at the top, and look at the six letters!”

“Aye,” says Fiona, reopening her eyes. “Don’t get angry at yourself. It’s not every day you run into an Occam’s razor, and in poetry form at that.”

“Yeah,” says Isadora. “A weird Occam’s razor. Thank you for the help, Fiona.”

“You’re welcome. Have fun with whatever you plan on doing on the computer.”

#asoue #a series of unfortunate events #fanfic #isadora quagmire #fiona widdershins #randomity (a collection of ficlets and fics)#(let's stretch the imagination to say computer passwords)#(can be that long)

2 notes · View notes

weeping-gospels · 2 years ago

Note

(from @hexed-hero, feel free to ignore if not interested in a thread)

The orc looks at the map he had purchased from a small hamlet further down the mountain. The winds are savage and cold, carrying the coming snowstorm, ushering the orc to the only shelter nearby, Castle Drachenfels. As the orc enters, he feels dozens of eyes upon him, and the further he ventures in, the more intense the feeling gets, until the orc feels unsafe to go on any further without leaving an offering of some kind. So the orc takes a knee, placing some mint, thistle, three gold coins, and a blood red gem on the ground. Then the orc rises, and he feels he is no longer alone in this chamber.

Skittering and shuffling could be heard as the Dhampir’s ratmen had been alerted to a peculiar presence, crimson eyes as bright as rubies targeting the source of disturbance. Having been paid and trained to serve as her portion of the castle’s guardians, it was now muscle memory to get into position and ready their weaponry. Her scribe gasped and slapped a bandaged hand over his mouth, scuttling away on hobbling legs into the grand bedroom, squeaking about how an ‘unfathomably large-huge creature’ stepped foot into their humble abode — much to her dubious displeasure.

Normally, she’d let her vermin take care of whoever it was. However, deciding his size could possibly take out a decent portion of her already petite army, Bethanne sighed and stood up from her coffin bed to check on the ruckus.

The offerings he had left behind weren’t forgotten — but thieved by her Skaven instead of a God. Grubby hands snatched away thistle, mint, coin, and gem, the snickering and sniveling increasing in volume from greedy satisfaction. These noises all abruptly came to a halt however whence the red head entered the top of the stairwell, her silhouette blossoming an intimidatingly long creature with identically long, pointed ears and claws, fangs exposing and maw cracking open —

In a prolonged yawn. Disheveled, in a baggy nightgown with one strap slipping down freckled shoulder to reveal pale flesh, and a single pillow tucked under her arm, she surely was a ‘frightening’ sight to behold for her species. Eyes narrowed to spot him and clear her disoriented vision, chops smacking exhaustedly.

“ S-S-SEE?! K-KRINKLEKIT WAS NOT LYING-BLUFFING!! KRINKLEKIT DID SEE-SAW LARGE-BIG UGLY THING ENTER OUR GENEROUS MISTRESS’ CASTLE, YES-YES!! UGLY THING GAVE US COINS AND GEMS AS APOLOGY-SORRY FOR HURTING OUR EYES-EYES FOR BEING SO HIDEOUS!! UGLY THIN — “

All Bethanne had to do was slowly turn her head to glare at Krinklekit to get him to shut up. With an apologetic peep, he silenced and hid behind her.

“…You there. Why are you here of all places? What ungodly time is it? “

#character: bethanne drozdov 🦇#hexed hero

0 notes

greatiggspectations · 2 years ago

Text

I posted 118 times in 2022

7 posts created (6%)

111 posts reblogged (94%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@animatedtext

@rotanawrites

@funnytwittertweets

@miss-holleyshiftwell

@elliot-morey

I tagged 113 of my posts in 2022

Only 4% of my posts had no tags

#insp - 52 posts

#r: tulip - 9 posts

#holley - 7 posts

#elli - 6 posts

#jun - 4 posts

#seb - 4 posts

#cats - 4 posts

#tigg content - 4 posts

#olaf - 3 posts

#swynopen - 2 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#up to you if tigg: 1. landed on ur character / 2. landed on the ground / 3. miraculously was caught by your character / 4. any combination

My Top Posts in 2022:

TIEGAN “Tigg” MARLENE KHAN

If you're loved by someone, you're never rejected Decide what to be and go be it

There was a dream and one day I could see it Like a bird in a cage I broke in And demanded that somebody free it And there was a kid with a head full of doubt So I'll scream 'til I die And the last of those bad thoughts are finally out

There's a darkness upon you that's flooded in light And in the fine print They tell you what's wrong and what's right And it flies by day and it flies by night And I'm frightened by those who don't see it

~*~*~*~*

Nicknames: Tigg, call her Tiegan and you die Magic status: Vaagh (tiger shapeshifter) Nationality: British Ethnicity: Indian Accent: Manchester/Sheffield, grew up in foster system between those two cities Height: 5′10 Job: Server at Remy’s Lived in Swynlake since: 2016

Tattoos/piercings/daily jewelry: Multiple ear-piercings, septum piercing, an eyebrow piercing, a thistle tattoo What would you find if you Googled them? Social media, an article about her getting stabbed a couple years ago What natives would know about them: Her father is magizoology professor at Pride U, she’s got a band that’s always looking for a drummer, Twitter troll Other: Mother of all stray cats, /*slaps roof of Tigg*/ this bad boy can fit so much trauma in her!

1 note - Posted January 26, 2022

Personal Stylist || Tiger Cub

Monday, November 28 – Extreme Makeover: SwynRP Edition: Plot a thread where two characters are giving something — or someone! — a makeover.

Shere Khan -- aka Tigg’s Da -- was getting out there in the dating scene! What did that mean? That Tigg had to make sure her Da was lookin’ like a snack! Or whatever the kids said these days. She was in her mid-twenties now, hell if she knew.

Anyway!

“Okay Da, you ready to get Queer Eye’d?”

@professor-lungri

3 notes - Posted November 6, 2022

Yeah, What? || open

“Quick question. What the fuck, mate?” Tigg wasn’t surprised by much, but oh boy, was she at a loss for words today.

[outfit]

7 notes - Posted November 29, 2022

vocab words || winter tiger

@olaf-likeswarmhugs

Tigg wasn’t looking for an existential crisis when she logged into Twitter yesterday, but yet! There one was!

She’d never heard the terms aromantic or greyromantic before, and while aromantic didn’t seem to pertain to her at first...learning about the word greyromantic, reading that line about it including romantic attraction that’s weak, or that only comes under certain conditions, a part of Tigg that she didn’t know existed felt seen.

Like, capital ‘S’ Seen.

At the same time, she didn’t know what to make of it.

She’d DM’d Olaf to see if he’d want to get a milkshake with her, and the chipper Twitter guy agreed so like?? yay!

“What’s your shake of choice?” Tigg asked, sliding into the booth across from him, asking the question to break the ice.

7 notes - Posted February 22, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Hit Every Branch Falling Out The Dumbass Tree || OPEN

Tigg was trying to snatch a stray cat with a half chewed off ear to take it to the vet. Thing was, it, like many strays, sensed the tiger beneath her skin, the predator, and was like “fuck that shit!” and scurried up a tree.

She was disheartened, but not dissuaded. Ha! She could climb trees too, silly cat! She got a running start and leapt up to catch onto the lowest hanging branch. As she pulled the rest of her body up to swing her legs up onto where three branches jutted from the trunk, it crossed her mind that her days spent on a stripper pole were being put to good use. Tigg’s upper body strength was really nothing to sneeze at.

Nor was her determination.

The latter, however? Probably worth reigning in. For it wasn’t long before she made a crucial error in her hot pursuit. Overestimating the reliability of a branch and underestimating her own weight, Tigg began to crawl out away from the trunk at between four and five meters up. Her confidence in the branch as she shimmied across it was pretty sure, until she made to reach for the cat.

Sss….na-!

“Fuckin’ ‘ell!” Tigg cried out, realizing she was, put simply, fucked.

-ap!

Tigg squealed as the branch gave out, prepared to be a Tigg pancake, but when she cartoonishly landed haphazardly cradled between twin boughs a little under two and a half meters off the ground, she let out an interrupted victory cry of-

“Not dead, ye- oh, oh-!!!!” Because while her fall was delayed, the jolt off the snapped branch landing on the branch supporting her lower half caused her legs to slip. And the upper half was only barely supported by her mid-back having slammed onto that branch’s twin.

And her descent continued until - impact!

“Uuuugh. Well. Still not dead.”

28 notes - Posted March 26, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

0 notes

not-a-space-alien · 3 years ago

Text

Watch Your Step: Chapter 12: Welcome to the World Wide Web

HAPPY MERMAY!!! A certain merman may appear later in this chapter, and in his honor I got a commission made, which you can see here.

Another update since my last chapter, we made a gt discord server! There are many servers like it, but this one is ours :p You are ABSOLUTELY allowed to join even if we've never DM'd before, I see some of you in my notes a lot but for the life of me I can't remember all of you to send you an invite. If you're over 18, just message me if you'd like to join.

EXTRA big thanks to @appelsiinilight for their help with this chapter. Their willingness to share their perspective has helped me throughout this whole story to make the narratives about disability and English as a second language more respectful and authentic.

As usual I also have @static-stars for helping me hash out worldbuilding details, who convinced me to add mermaids in the first place >:3c

the next "chapter" ended up being way too long, so I split it into three parts. I also decided this triple-barrel chapter will be the ending to this story (so total of 14 chapters and an epilogue), HOWEVER! don't fear, because I will be continuing to write and the sequel will pick up right where this leaves off, I just thought this was the point where it made the most narrative sense to insert breaks. This story #1 as well as the series is called Watch Your Step....the next story....well, you'll just have to see >:3 I also started a series on AO3 to reflect these changes, which you can subscribe to if you don't want to miss the continuation.

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoy!

Story masterpost.

AO3 link

Thistle was excited by his new little castle; in fact, he was thrilled to bits with everything he’d picked out from the store, once he realized they were his to keep. They represented a step forward in his life, transitioning to a more dignified life than the one he was living now: one in which he had privacy and personal belongings. However, he soon became much more enamored with something else they’d brought home: the phone.

He wasn’t really interested in it at first; he’d seen Marcy, Teddy, and Colin all absorbed by these mysterious, possibly magic rectangles at various points. He’d even been shown images and scraps of writing on them before, but they’d always been yanked back away from him eventually. He still wasn’t really sure what they were, or how to use them for anything.

Marcy was determined to help him figure it out. She set up the device on her own, then lay down on the floor next to Thistle and demonstrated how to pull up the contacts list. He had three contacts, each with a picture next to them. He seemed delighted by this, reaching out to touch Marcy’s picture. He seemed surprised when the screen changed, calling Marcy’s phone.

Marcy got up to the other side of the room and answered her phone. “Hello? Who is this?”

Thistle giggled, tilting his head towards the top where her voice was coming from. He skittered down to the bottom where the microphone was. “Me.”

“Me who? How did you get this number?!”

Thistle wiped the smile off his face, furrowing his brow.

“It’s a joke,” said Marcy, giving an exaggerated laugh.

He mirrored her, clearly not understanding, but relieved that they were joking around.

She spent the next few hours with the internet disabled on the device, showing him the various functions he could access, the flashlight, the calculator, the camera, the messaging app. She held her phone next to his and let him see that anything he typed in and texted to her would show up on her phone. He went absolutely wild for this, and slapped the screen in an uncoordinated way to put together a string of gibberish that he then sent to her.

He’d need a little bit of practice. It was made for someone with much larger fingers.

Marcy was starting to get afraid of what would happen when she finally let him use the internet. He seemed like he was going to explode from excitement just leaning over the phone and tapping the icons, gasping with delight at the moving sounds and colors. After about the fourth or fifth time he called her and demanded she go answer his call elsewhere in the house, she took it from him and discretely moved some of the more…purchase-oriented apps off the home screen, disabling them so he could only access the ones she set with the parental controls.

She leaned the phone in the corner where his castle was, plugging it in. She disabled the lock screen and demonstrated how to tap the power button to turn the screen off and on. He nodded along, then immediately zoomed in on the contacts list again and called Colin.

“Hello?”

“Colin!”

From the dining room, Colin’s face appeared, leaning over the table. “Hey, bud! You sound so big!”

“Phone! Sui ovaudio? Min? M’ova aun!”

“Yeah! You got it!”

Marcy gave it a day for the novelty to wear off. He lost interest after a while, probably thinking that he’d explored all the features the phone had to offer and there was nothing left to discover. At this stage, Thistle privately thought it was a little stupid that the three humans were on their devices so frequently. What could they be looking at so often?

He found out soon enough. Marcy took the phone and turned the WiFi on. He clung to her shirt, leaning over her shoulder to watch her comparatively huge fingers swiping and tapping way faster than he’d been doing with the width of his microscopic hands.

She used parental controls to disable everything except YouTube kids, a dictionary app, and an encyclopedia app. Still, paranoia got the better of her as she put it back down in the little corner in the living room Thistle was making for himself.

“If anyone asks for credit card info–the numbers on these little cards–see, here? These numbers. Don’t give it to them. Don’t tell anyone where you are, or how old you are, or how big you are, or–You know what, I don’t think anyone is going to be able to DM you on wikipedia or the thesaurus…But remember that some of the stuff on here isn’t necessarily true. Well, most of it is. The stuff you’re looking at is mostly reliable. Well, except for the kid’s shows and whatnot. Oh God, YouTube kids has comments disabled, right? Yes. Okay, you can have an account to save videos to watch later, but that’s it, okay? You can’t type any comments in. No comment boxes. Don’t talk to anyone. Well, you need to type in to search for words. Well…”

Thistle received all her instructions absolutely bewildered. She plugged the phone back in and set it up for him. “Okay. Go ahead. You’re gonna learn English way, way faster this way, and it’ll keep you from being bored.”

Baffled, he cautiously leaned over to examine the phone, his miniature knitting still clutched to his chest. “Ko?”

“Uh… L-Lem… Lemu? Lenu.”

He brightened up. “Learning?”

“Yes!”

“Reading?”

“Yes! And watching.” She pointed to the TV.

Thistle eagerly scuttled over, standing before the device, practically the same height as him. He reached out one delicate finger and tapped the encyclopedia app.

A smattering of article previews came up, an assortment of pictures, and the blinking cursor on the search bar. He furrowed his brows.

“Here,” said Marcy. She demonstrated how to bring the on-screen keyboard up. “Write what you want to read about here, and it’ll give you something to read.”

She typed in clown fish. A wall of text came up, broken by colorful pictures and clickable links.

Thistle’s face lit up, and he sat, stretching his arms out to put one on either side of the device, an extra large TV. She advised him to sit back slightly, thinking vaguely that being close wasn’t good for someone’s eyes, right? And then left him to it.

***

Marcy turned out to be right. Thistle’s language skills skyrocketed, as did his understanding and knowledge of the human world. He absorbed vocabulary like a sponge, so despite his imperfect grasp of syntax, his speaking went from broken, frustrated fragments to fuller, richer, more confident sentences shockingly fast.

He spent most days reading or watching educational programs with subtitles on, seemingly determined to make the most of this new tool he’d been given. Marcy would occasionally check in to give him something else, kid’s literature, books on tape, podcasts, materials written for ESL learners. She could see the delight on his face when it clicked, when he actually started to understand what was being said, the change of noise and nonsense becoming words and sentences that meant something.

They fell into a routine of sorts. Usually there was at least one of them home to sit with him. When he wasn’t reading, learning, listening, or watching, he did activities with them. On the days when he was alone with Colin, they watched movies and sports games. When he was alone with Teddy, he did crafts and art. He painted his wooden house, a nice little scene with green paint for grass and sky blue with clouds up above. When he was alone with Marcy, he chattered excitedly about whatever articles he’d been browsing and what he’d learned. Sometimes all four of them were together, and she could feel Thistle radiating happiness, seeming like he was about to burst. It was starting to feel like they had another roommate, who just happened to be five and a half inches tall. Five point five six, Marcy declared when she measured him with a ruler, or 14.1 centimeters.

He kept a journal, crafted from Post-it notes bound into a book, written in Pixish. Marcy watched him write in it almost every night, feeling a twinge of sadness. The immersion of having no one and nothing that shared his native language was certainly conducive to learning a new one, but the isolation must be heart-breaking. She made attempts to reciprocate his effort and learn, but she had never been very good at picking up new languages, and of course he didn’t want her to read his diary. She also had her attention split because she was still trying to learn her own things in grad school…her dissertation was starting to stress her out again.

She never let the dregs of everyday life distract her from making time for him, though. She paid close attention to him. Franz Kafka be damned, if someone she cared about was a bug, she would love them all the same.

As his language skills increased, his accent also noticeably changed. Before, his English had been accented in a way that sounded vaguely Italian, or some other romance language. It suddenly veered very heavily into sounding more British.

Marcy suspected this was because of the amount of Peppa Pig he had been watching. This was confirmed when she had to gently explain to him that oinking at the end of your sentences wasn’t a standard manner of expression in English.

He also seemed to be embarrassed to learn that the language he was learning was called English. When she pressed him, he sheepishly admitted he’d been calling it “Giantese” to himself.

All three humans found this uproariously funny. Marcy asked what his own native language was called, thinking surely it must not be named after the species, right?

It turned out it was. This was when she found out it was called Pixish. He seemed to think this was normal. His hours with Dora added Spanish to his vocabulary as well, and he peppered it in sentences sometimes. He didn’t seem to grasp instinctually that there were multiple languages that humans spoke, instead thinking that he was learning some universal, pan-cultural language.

Marcy was gobsmacked by this, because it implied to her that wherever Thistle came from, there was just one language per species, or that there weren’t foreign languages at all. She had to pull up the encyclopedia entry on human languages and try to explain it to him. He seemed to get it eventually, and he seemed embarrassed, as though he should have known all along.

That seemed to be a big theme. He was very, very excited to learn, and eager to ask Marcy questions, but no matter how gently and encouragingly she answered, he usually seemed frustrated to not know. The amount of knowledge he was jamming in that little head of his over such a short period of time was impressive, and she made sure to tell him, but he had bouts of frustration, seemingly fed up with being adrift in an environment he barely knew anything about.

He also expressed the desire to go outside a few more times, but Marcy always gently rebuffed. Outside would be an environment he knew more about, and would be more comfortable in, but she was still rattled from what had happened last time…She knew she wouldn’t be able to put it off forever, though, so she always promised him they could try again soon.

Just…not right now. Especially not when she heard that damn dog loose outside again.

It was safe inside, though. There was usually at least one of them home to keep an eye on him, and Marcy was nervous about leaving him home alone. But they all agreed that it should be fine if they put Mochi in the basement.

***

“You sure I can't cat up?”

Marcy turned from the basement door, where Mochi was pitifully sticking her paws under the door and meowing, to Thistle, standing on the banister by the stairs. The little fairy had his hands in his pockets, watching her.

“Yes, I’m sure,” said Marcy. “Sorry.”

Thistle got down on his hands and knees, peering down at Mochi’s pleading paws. “Awww, Marcy! Sad cat! She wants playing with me!”

“Right,” said Marcy. “That’s what I’m worried about. She also wants to play with her toys.”

Thistle pouted, stretching his emerald eyes wide.

“Nope,” said Marcy. “Sorry. If no one is home to keep an eye on things, there’s a locked door between you and the cat. We agreed on that. No exceptions.”

Thistle folded himself into a sitting position, crossing his arms and looking sour. “Uhn, fine.”

“You have done nothing besides cuddle her for the past three days. I saw you.”

“Not true!” Thistle stuck one finger in the air. “I also read everything in the encyclopedia about fishes in Percomorpha.” He tossed his hair over his shoulder, then put one fist on his hip and the other to his chin. “That's tuna, seahorses, anglerfish, and pufferfish.”

“....right.” She gathered her backpack and lunchbox. “That’s great, sweetheart, but why don’t you read something a little more, uh…”

Thistle rocketed to his feet, vaulting over Marcy and landing on the coat rack. “Useful? You're saying useful? It’s not useful to, ko ae vi, fish? Know fish?"

“No, no,” said Marcy, feeling obligated to backpedal, as a biologist who worked in a field many people thought was useless. “It just seems like you might want to prioritize reading about, like, society and language and stuff.”

“...but they named one the jellynose.”

Marcy very gently bumped him into her hand, raising him up and giving him a kiss, planting it right on his chest. “You are adorable.”

He giggled, pushing her away. “Go to work.”

“Maybe I should make you get a job now. Pay rent.”

Thistle twirled a strand of his shiny black hair around his finger. “Sorry! If the…ehm…Ko ea vo…? Government! I'm not exist.” He stuck his tongue out. “No driver’s license. No security number. No ID."

She smiled at him, delicately brushing his hair back. “I think Colin will be back at 3 today. You feel okay about that? Being by yourself for a while?”

He puffed out his chest, putting one hand on it regally. “Of course, Marcy. I can alone. I don’t scared.”

“Right. Well, if you change your mind, you can always call me, okay? I might be able to come home early, anyway. I have a lot of computer work to do, so I can probably work from home.”

“Okay.”

“Man, I really don’t want to go….They’re giving me more instructions for that video project I told you about, I really don’t want to do it…” She sighed. “Well… I’ll call you when I’m on my lunch break to check in, if I can find the time.” She thought about saying I love you again. She hadn't said it since that first time, and now she was too scared of what would happen now that he might actually understand what it meant.

He didn't notice her lingering indecision. He was preoccupied with thoughts of someone he could talk to now that he was left alone in the house. “Okay. Talk you later."

Thistle stood in the window, watching her walk to her car. She occasionally looked at him over her shoulder, waving. He waved back. She mistook his interest in her departure as nervousness, and gave him another reassuring reminder she would call him at lunch, shouting muffled through the glass.

He gave her a cheery thumbs-up, and she beeped her horn as she pulled out of the driveway.

As soon as she was gone, he dashed into the living room, practically leaving skid marks, and hurled himself up at the fishtank.

He misjudged his landing slightly and ended up banging into it, conking on the glass and scaring away the fish that were lounging nearby.

He shook his head, then looked up. The merminnow was still on the anemone where he spent most of his time, and he’d rolled over to give Thistle a deathly glare.

“Sorry! Hey! Hey, look!” He held up his rubber fish, pressing it against the glass and pointing to it. “It’s you! That’s you! See? You! Ria! Ria! Ari! Hey!”

Nemo closed his eyes, mouth slightly ajar, and let out an inaudible sigh that released bubbles from his nose and mouth. He rolled over and shielded his face with his hand, as though to block him out.

Thistle tossed his rubber fish off the end table; it bounced and rolled across the carpet. He crossed his arms sourly. “Hey! You hearing me?”

The tailfin flicked at him dismissively.

Now was the time to break out his new weapon: his more advanced grasp of Giantese….or should he say, English. “You’re rude. I’m favoring you! Ee…. aralvi faon. Doing a favor. Maybe I’d tell Colin you’re here? He’ll back at 3.”

Nemo’s fins stopped their idle rustling.

“I want t’tell. But I don’t.” He twirled a lock of hair around his finger. “So maybe you’ll talk t’me?”

Nemo rolled over, face scrunched up in a hostile expression. Thistle suddenly doubted himself.

Nemo lifted off the anemone and pumped his tail to get up to the top of the fish tank. Thistle heard the sound of the flap of the lid opening, and felt a slosh of water from up above. He craned his neck to see Nemo leaning out from the top, locks of his sopping wet hair pointing straight down at the Pixie, framing a scowling face. “What do you want?”

Shaking with excitement, Thistle flickered his wings and leapt up onto the half of the lid that was still closed. “I just want to talk!”

Nemo retreated back into the water slightly, only leaving his chest above the surface. He crossed his arms and rested them on the lip of the tank, hunching over. “Okay, fine. Talk to me then, if you’re going to threaten me over it.”

Thistle suddenly felt guilty. “Er–I’m not going to tell actually.” He knelt, bouncing with excitement. “I just–I just want to talk really! Please!”

Nemo sighed. “Well, why don’t you give me a worm, then?”

Thistle blinked. “A worm?”

“Those worms they get for you! I only get to eat the fish food, and whatever they happen to leave close enough for me to climb out and get!”

“Oh!” Thistle was suddenly delighted by the opportunity to share his bounty. “Okay! Wait right there!”

He leapt down and jogged into his little castle, where he’d stashed the plastic cup of worms. He snapped it open and took one out, then rushed back over.

“Here!” he said, panting as he alighted on top of the tank again. “They’re good really!”

Nemo snatched it and dove back down into the water.

Excitement fading, Thistle leaned over, peering into the water, watching the shaky, wobbling shapes beneath the surface. He watched as Nemo sunk into his anemone again, snarfing down the worm.

He waited. And waited. Finally, Nemo’s orange face reappeared at the top of the water. “Oh, you’re still here?”

Indignant, Thistle said, “Wh–Yes?!”

“I figured since you talked to me, you’d got what you wanted.”

What? He’d barely said two words! “Talk–I only–”

“Can I have another one?”

“What?” He hadn’t even said thank you the first time! “Why would I even?”

He leaned back in the water, hands laced behind his head. “Well, they’re really good, and I can’t get them on my own. Only seems fair, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah I guess you…Wait! No, no it doesn’t!”

Nemo chuckled, slapping the water with his tail languidly. “Whatever. They are really good, though. I can see why you’ve gained weight eating them.”

Thistle put a hand to his belly. “Huh? Weight?”

“Yeah. You’ve definitely gone up a pants size or two.”

“Well, I….so what?” He’d said it like it was a bad thing. To Thistle, being fat meant you and your hive were good at foraging.

“The humans think it’s bad. They think it makes you ugly. They think it means you’re lazy.”

Thistle’s cheeks flushed hot. “What?!”

“Doesn’t it make it harder to fly?”

Thistle flickered his wings, looking over his shoulder at them. “I can fly, it’s okay. Wait…Lazy, you said? Ko, ne, Marcy is….”

Nemo grinned impishly. “You think she’s fat?”

Thistle flushed again, unsure if that was rude to say. He did think Marcy was fat, but he also didn’t think that was a bad thing…but the way Nemo said it… “She’s work all the time! Always! More than…Pilio iuan…anyone else…any other human I know!”

Nemo rolled his eyes, idly squirting a drop of water out between his two front teeth. “You only know three humans.”

“...So?! She doesn’t ugly!” Thistle knew that what humans considered attractive was different from what pixies considered attractive, but to most pixies, it was desirable for females to be large. Marcy–and Teddy too, for that matter–therefore represented a cartoonishly exaggerated archetype of the pinnacle of femininity, which he honestly tried not to think about too much, lest his mind start wandering in indecent directions.

Nemo looked at him tiredly. “Well, whatever. If I talk to you, will you give me more worms, then?”

Why was he being so mean? Thistle almost regretted working so hard on his language skills, just to understand his one potential friend thought he was annoying. His eyes watered. “Why would you hate me? Ceve… neo pao…Nemo, surely you like a talk at least a little?”

“You don’t think my name is really Nemo, do you?”

That caught Thistle off guard. “Uh…? Well, what is it really, then?”

“Hah! Wouldn’t you like to know!”

“Well….Yes, that’s why I ask.”

They stared at each other in silence for a second.

The fishman sighed. “You can’t pronounce my name. It’s only pronounceable underwater, by someone with gills.”

Thistle perked up. “Oh! It makes sense! Your language does under the water!”

“Yeah.”

“You learn to speak…ahm…” He pointed to the TV. “You watch a lot like me, to learn?”

“Yep.”

“So you also have to have…” Gah, what was the word for it? He’d just read this. He sucked in a few breaths in an exaggerated way.

“Lungs?”

He nodded and pointed.

Nemo flared his gills and sucked in a breath at the same time, making a weird popping sound. “Of course I have both. What kind of chump breathes with only lungs or only gills?”

Thistle found himself oddly embarrassed now, as though he’d chosen lungs only in a moment of arrogance thinking he wouldn’t need gills. “Well, ehm…” Suddenly all the questions he’d so desperately wanted to ask had slipped out of his grasp, mind coming up empty. “How are you….ehm…How did you get here?”

“How did I get here? I put myself here.”

“Well, yes, but–but how? Where did you come from?”

“From the ocean.”

“...And??”

Nemo held out his hand. “Worm.”

Thistle scuttled down back into his little house and came back with a worm. Nemo took it and bit its head, chewing and savoring with his eyes closed. “Mmmm…”

“Well?”

Nemo nibbled on the wiggling legs, pulling one off and rolling it around in his teeth. “It’s not that hard if you know what you’re doing. A lot of aquarium fish are caught in the wild by humans, who bring them back to give them to other humans to put in their aquariums.”

Thistle tightened his fists. “They kidnapped you, too.”

“For the last time,” said Nemo. “I did it on purpose. I’m here because I want to be here. I could leave if I wanted to.”

“Nuh-uh!” Thistle shook his head. “You’re lying! How would you?”

“I’d go out through the mail slot.”

“Hm?”

“The slot in the front door. I’d just climb out of the tank and out the mail slot. Boom, I’m outside.”

“Okay…and then what?”

“Then whatever I want!” Nemo slapped his tail on the water in a frustrated way. “I don’t know! Why do you care so much? I don’t want to leave.”

“Don’t you have a family?”

“I don’t need things like that. All I need is what I have right here. Plenty of food, a nice anemone, a nice place to live with clean water, and best of all: no predators.”

Thistle looked sad. “Yes. Predators are scary really…with no family to help.”

“I told you I don’t need a family or anything like that.”

“But you said no predators was best of all. You came here for to be safe?”

Nemo flared his nostrils angrily. “I can take care of myself. I got in here by myself, I like living by myself, and when I want to leave, I’ll leave by myself.”

Thistle suspected he was more scared than he was letting on. “But you’re not alone. Colin cares for you.”

Nemo grit his teeth.

“And you’re afraid of Colin knowing you’re here.”

Nemo flipped his tail and sent a cascade of water at Thistle, who jumped back. “Okay, fine!” he yelled. “I’m small! I’m very small, and easy to eat! Is that what you wanted me to say? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Uh…”

“And if Colin found out I was here, it would be easy for him to pick me up and carry me around and do whatever he wanted to me! I’ve seen you crying about Marcy doing the same thing to you! How are you going to say that stuff to me like you don’t understand?”

“I do understand!” said Thistle. “But you don’t have to pretend–”

“I’m not pretending anything! I really don’t need anyone else! I’m only pretending to be a clown fish!” Nemo’s voice had started to wobble. “And I don’t want to talk to you because you’re going to get me found out! Don’t draw attention to me! Just stay away from me! I don’t need anyone else!”

Thistle knelt again, tucking his hair behind his ear. “That fish in the movie, the one that’s you... A predator killed his family. Right?

“Shut up,” said Nemo.

“Did you–”

“I’m done talking to you.” Nemo lunged, muscular back bending as he dived down, flashing into his colorful tail giving one final slap on the water. Thistle got a last faceful of droplets showering over him as he leaned forward to plead with him.

He sat on the lip of the fish tank for a few moments, dripping, disappointed. I suppose I kind of deserve that.

But Thistle was nothing if not persistent. He flickered down onto the floor, feeling in command of the living room. The creature in the tank could say whatever he wanted, but he still had to wait a full six hours alone with Thistle until anyone else came home. Thistle would just try again later…. Maybe he’d start with a worm next time.

———————————–

Tag list

@cloudwatchingtoday @theepiccreatorofmagic-blog-blog @waitisthatgt @itssmoltime @ratcatcher0325 @alarcomet @borrowerbecca @crazytinygirl

#gt #g/t #gianttiny #giant/tiny #fairy #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #size difference #my writing #my original writing #watch your step

47 notes · View notes

theramseyloft · 4 years ago

Text

3/15/21 Loft Notes

Looks like my day has been a little restructured due to weather.

Gonna feed Frito Hose the mats, mesh, and bricks Write out the shipping label, put his box together Run him to the post office, get meds, then stop at lowes for a drier vent.

Then start cleaning proper when I get back.

The person who wanted Cloud and Cody either had an emergency, or changed their mind about getting them, and just never let me know... I'm really upset by that.

Patron: "did they just ghost you?"

I'd rather they ghosted me than an emergency involving their kids came up.

Fed Frito. Nica's laid her first egg.

I'll see if she wants to set it. If she does, I'll let her.

Keep a fake, mind. Pretty as Ginger is, his higher sensitivity to ammonia isn't something I want to pass on.

Sent that Frito.

Off to take care of the other crap.

Patron: "shame about Cody and Cloud... this is the third rejection for Cody, poor boy"

Vents got!

And yeah, poor boys.

Still hasn't even looked since we spoke last Monday, when everything went to hell.

Welp. I'll either hear from them or I won't.

If I don't by Saturday, I'll have to assume it fell through.

Headed home.

Aaaand safely back home.

Oh no! Oh, I wish it had just been ghosting... Cloud and Cody's new parent was hospitalized

Yeah...

Tomorrow is still safe if they want, and waiting another week will be stressful, but I can mitigate it.

Back to records and cleaning.

Floors have been vacuumed. Cleaning dove and Quarantine enclosures.

They have requested a hold so that they can be off meds and functional when the boys arrive.

So, we will be doing some training work with Cloud and Cody, to give them safe wing stretching opportunities while they are stuck in quarantine.

Dove cage done.

Knowing that the problem is amonia build up, and once the air flow issue is taken care of, that should be too... I'm torn about Ginger's eggs.

His kids will, hopefully, never be exposed to that much amonia build up.

I don't think it would be safe for him and Danica to raise them.

I still plan to adopt him out, once his lungs recover. Boy has done enough and more than earned his retirement.

But, if another clutch is started today or tomorrow that could foster them.. Should I tuck the eggs under some one else for some of Ginger's genes without putting Ginger himself at risk?

Or just not risk passing anything on that I am uncertain about, let the rats have nummy egg treats, and hope to add another tiger Grizzle later?

Patron: "As much as I'd love to see Ginger kids, if it were me, I'd probably play it safe and not risk passing anything on, especially since his history is unknown on top of the ammonia sensitivity."

And that's fair.

Left the window open and the fan on last night and the loft is pretty comfortable.

Mj is killing me.

When Angel gets upset about not being allowed to tread me and bites, she chases him off and claims me as HER mom-perch!

Patron: "Hmm. I'm wondering if one of the reasons why Ginger never made it back to his original loft had something to do with weaker or more sensitive lungs. In which case, that's definitely not something you want to risk passing on."

"Though he is such a pretty boy, the lure of "just seeing what happens" is strong."

"But after what happened with Sun Tsu, it's probably better to err on the side of caution than risk passing something serious on to other generations, especially if a Ginger peep or grandpeep ends up being prolific before you catch it if something serious is wrong."

I'm doing enough "guess we'll see" with Chiffon and Couture, who are already here.

No need to encourage more with one or more known unhealthy parent.

Angel has snatched up the edge of my thumb cuticle, and has taken to biting that bloody when I don't let him tread me.

Honestly, glad he's taking that out on me, because he could kill any of the other birds here with a bite like that to the head or neck.

He has an absolutely vicious, powerful bite, thanks to his Utility King dad.

That, by the way, is why I was excited to get a human attracted young half Utility King.

An adult Utility King cock would have left my loft a bloody mess of slain rivals.

Angel being young and primarily human attracted is taking out all that potentially lethal aggression on me, who has tougher skin than another pigeon and can stand up to it and tell him in no uncertain terms to fuck off.

Satin and Farthing are pretty even matches for him, and Thistle, despite being smaller, inherited ALL of Emilio's tenacity.

So he is learning VERY quickly to defer to the older cocks.

Wukong tread Suki

Suki is about to try to slap the bastard clean outta Angel.

He is getting in the way of me sifting and getting between her and her peeps.

She is about fed tf up!

LOOK at this glower.

As I was typing that, she launched herself at him and marched him off by the scruff she was dead set on snatching off of him.

Now he is trying to impress my right foot.

20 notes · View notes

oceansmelodysblog · 4 years ago

Text

Until my last breath

A botw Zelink reversed roles AU story

Chapter One - part One

[Notes at the end of the chapter]

As always, Link wakes up with the first rays of the sun, when the night still hangs mighty over the sky. When he jumped out of his bed in his sapphire blue night suit, he looked out of the wide-open window and searched for the sun. The white light broke a line at the end of the horizon and let the peak of the mountains look dangerous and scary. As Link walks to the closet and pulls out his black tunic and his Hylian trousers, the first servant knocks at the door and pleads for entrance.

“You may come inside.” Without showing any emotions, the servant called Celessia, brought him his morning hot tea made of the mighty thistle. It increases his willpower and lets him train harder and better every morning. “Please leave it on the table mistress Celessia.”

“Yes, your royal highness.” She says in a soft voice and leaves the room quietly.

Satisfied, Link nips at the soothing warmth of the tea and plans what training session he will have to train today.

He marched along the training ground and chose a suitable target, pulled his bow from his shoulder, leaned an arrow against the string and pulled the string with his thumb. The huge ring on his thumb, bearing the royal crest, protected his thumb from flesh wounds, inflicted by the string and too long training. He took a deep breath and concentrated on the point to which he wanted to shoot.

Then, he let go of the string. The arrow whizzed through the air and struck the black centre with full force.

Still, he wasn't satisfied, it didn't challenge him much, didn't give him a thrill to shoot after a target when he wasn't under stress.

Link trained non-stop, relentless, and driven by his delusion to outdo his brothers in the Heir to the Throne selection. He jumped over obstacles and shot from the air at several targets at once but failed to land and crashed to the ground.

He refused to give up and stood back on his feet with a shaking body. He took a deep breath to concentrate, but pain from his ribs stabbed through his whole body. His breath shook with pain and he sweated nervously. 'Focus, Link!' he slapped himself inwardly and started his iron-hard parkour again.

After the hard work out, he looked for the healer down the market. He walked past hard-working people from the kitchen and was greeted warmly. He smiled back each time but had to control himself to grimace so as not to show the pain. He always admired the drive of the people who worked in Hyrule Castle and tried to be friendly to them, even when his father tried to tell him otherwise.

‘A king must always maintain his dignity and never regard anyone as his equal,' his father's words rang in his head. Link, however, disagreed.

He continued to walk the corridors and observed the goings-on, picking up conversations here and there. One of them had been able to catch a special fish yesterday, and another told of a wrestling match in which he earned three times more than in the castle. Link always found the conversations interesting because he could learn a lot from the lives of others, and it didn't make him look like a spoilt prince locked up in the huge castle.

When he finally found the exit to the marketplace, he sighed with relief. The sun had been in the sky for some time by now, dipping the lively square in a golden, welcoming light. Men and women shouted and chanted from their stalls to attract more buyers, but Link also saw castle-affiliated servants, presumably running errands for the kitchen and the royal family.

Link, glad to be reasonably undetected, continued his search for the healer. But he was no longer at his stall, as usual. He therefore asked a passer-by who was nearby if she knew where the healer was.

"Yes, the old man has retired and is training a new disciple, he is in an old hut at the end of the road, around the corner to the left."

"Have thanks, honoured lady. Have a good day." Link politely said goodbye and hurried to the healer, because he didn't know how long he could stand the pain on his ribs.

As he reached the end of the street, he noticed how quieter it was and how shabby the houses here looked. He knew he would take another look on the surroundings to speak with his youngest brother, on how to improve this area when he had more time, but now he limped straight to the open door of the hut, expecting to find the healer, or his student, but instead he found a young woman with golden long hair.

The sun shone only minimally through the dirty windows, but the few rays made her hair look like liquid gold. The girl was squatting on the floor under the table filled with all sorts of herbs and substances, making notes in a small book as she looked back and forth between her book and the herbs.

Link leaned against the wooden door frame with his arms folded, analysing her from head to toe. Her back was turned to him; from the looks of it, she hadn't noticed him yet. Link cleared his throat, startling the young woman, and banged her head against the edge of the table. She held her head with her face contorted in pain and turned to him curiously.

"I am sorry I didn't want to scare you-" His eyes widened and his mouth was wide open as he looked into her pretty face. Neither could get out of their stare until Link cleared his throat to avoid being rude. "I'm looking for the healer, or at least his apprentice. I-"

"You have chest pains, am I right?" she interrupted him.

For a moment he stared at her, perplexed, and immediately understood. "So, you are the healer's pupil. I see. Say, would you look at my ribs, the pain takes my breath away."

"Very well, please sit on the table."

Link did as he was told and sat on the table while the young woman laid herbs and bandages ready beside him. Curious, he watched her work.

"If you will allow me, I would prefer to remove your tunic".

"It would be a great help if you could do that for me." He whispered through his pain. Sweating through his sorrow.

She looked at him with her big green eyes and smiled shyly. Quietly and carefully, she pulled up his top and got him to release his pain-free side first, then helped him out of his injured half. Gentle, soft fingertips tentatively touched his skin. He wasn't sure why his body was paying so much attention, though, because she wasn't the first woman to touch him, after all.

"What is your name, healer?" he asked, giving her a sly smile.

"My name is Zelda, my lord. Or should I say Your Royal Highness, rather?" she said, curtsying playfully. Through her lashes, she looked up at him and smiled.

Link was surprised once more at her astuteness. He smirked. "You recognised it from my ring." It was more a statement than a question, yet she nodded.

"Outside of the royal family and the archer battalion, few are permitted to wear a ring on their thumb. And only the Royal Family is permitted to wear this ring with the sacred Triforce Seal of the Deities. Judging by your sea-blue irises, you must be Prince Link, as your brothers often have ice-blue or green ones."

Link wondered why he had never met such a gifted woman, even though he knew every face in and around Hyrule Castle. While he pondered this, she crushed plants in a wooden mortar and spread the paste on the bandages.

Zelda secretly kept looking at Link's immaculately shaped face, but quickly lowered her gaze when their eyes met.

"These herbs will soften the lesions on your ribs and the bandages will support your muscles. Please be more careful with your body next time. When the body and mind are not in harmony, such injuries occur."

Link nodded and then felt the cooling paste on his body and how she carefully, with skilful hands, tied the bandage around his broad chest. He relaxed; exhaled in relief.

"I thank you for your help. But I am surprised that I have never met such a beautiful and skilled woman as you are. Is this your first time in the marketplace?"

"No, your royal highness. I have been here for some time and enjoyed training as a healer. You just hadn't noticed me until now."

"What a blind idiot I've been." Meaningfully, he stared into her green eyes. He knew women were at his feet when he looked at them like that.

"No you're not, your royal highness. Our paths just haven't crossed yet."

"Then I would like our paths to cross more often, from now on. What would you think of getting a better education at the castle? I'd get you all the books and materials you'd need and you'd be given the title of Royal Healer."

Zelda frowned imperceptibly, generous offers usually had a catch with them; even more so when it came from a prince.

"Forgive my rudeness, but I must decline your offer. I am still not a trained master healer and I have yet to pay off my debt to the master, so I will stay here where I belong. You should now return to your palace and rest your bruises."

Zelda turned her back on him and returned her attention to her notes.

"Do you not charge a fee for treatment?" he asked, as if left out in the cold. While he knew that not everything worked his way, it felt like a punch in the gut with her.

"No, because I have to write everything down and if the Master reads that a prince has been here, he'll grumble at me for not taking all your rupees." Zelda half turned to Link and squinted over at him while the corners of her mouth twitched trying not to laugh at her master.

"Then accept this as an anonymous donation" Link reached into his leather pouch on his belt and detached it. Setting the entire pouch down on the treatment table, he picked up his tunic and left the hut before Zelda could refuse his generous donation.

Link stopped shortly and heard from a distance how Zelda snapped for air sharply and then began to cheer. He couldn't help but smiling broadly across his face. Proudly, he walked back to the marketplace.

In the open square, the wind blew icy cold over his naked and bandaged upper body. As if he were stepping out of a hammam into the open air, the icy cold awakened his senses. He was aware of how much rupees he had left behind and hoped that the oddball old man would relieve her of her debt. But knowing him, it was not the case.

As he mulled over a solution to help Zelda to move on, he smiled half-heartedly at the passer-by who greeted him with his title. He was too busy trying to find a solution.

Soon the winter solstice would fall in the kingdom, it would get freezing cold in the run-down hut and he wanted them to be warm.

Zelda counted the rupees the prince had left again, just to make sure she could trust her mind. Six thousand five hundred and sixty-four rupees she counted in total. It was enough to research more medicines, buy new instruments and they could still find a better, but more importantly warmer, place to stay that had a bit more space to accommodate more patients. "Almighty Goddess Hylia, I thank you for sending me this generous prince," she whispered.

"Did I just hear generous prince?"

Shocked, Zelda turned abruptly to stare at her diminutive master. She had to quickly weigh how much to reveal without Link losing face. It was too unlikely that a person of the royal family would show up.

"A man came on behalf of the royal court and delivered this purse full of rupees to me. The man did not want to reveal who the anonymous donor was at first, but I managed to find out that it was one of the princes. The servant added the message that it was time to fund Doctor Borville's talent and left without another word. That is all I know, sir."

Zelda held her breath, so tense was she. Under no circumstances could she reveal to the old man that the Prince had been here, as he would force her to ingratiate herself to the Prince to exploit him for his greedy purposes.

The old man scratched his pointed beard thoughtfully, took his chair and sat on it.

"Finally, it is about time that my knowledge is appreciated. I'm just wondering which of the princes it was. Ragnar and Link always come here when they've messed up in their training and are too proud to go to the royal healer because their father would get wind of it. It must be one of them…hmm… I wonder which one…"

Dr Borville lit the tobacco in his pipe with relish and leaned back in his chair. Zelda forced herself to smile because of the lie about his skills. She knew that her abilities had surpassed her master's and every day she felt it more and more; as if she was standing still without being able to grow. But then she smirked at the thought of Link secretly trying to escape his father's eyes.

"But don't you dare using the money to pay your debts. I'll publicly denounce you as a thief if you do," he warned her.

Zelda clawed her nails into the edge of the table she was holding onto and sighed inwardly. Of course, she wouldn’t dare to, but the old man hated young people and women and she was both, so she was incessantly subjected to his harassment.

She had to do something to be able to live independently of her father one day. A life of freedom, far away from the place where she had only bad memories. But as it goes as it is, she wondered if she was ever able to accomplish that since the old geezer barely paid her full salary.

To take her mind off things and distract her teacher, she posed curiously. "Doctor, would you kindly tell me more about the princes?"

"You silly brat, don't even know anything about the ruling family. These children these days, never learn. Anyway, let me explain to you who the royal family is:

Starting with King Selim. He is titled The Mighty and The Merciless because he mercilessly defends the sacred places of the goddesses. The present borders of Hyrule are entirely due to his iron hand. In the past, there were often wars over those sacred sites, over the Temple of Time and the Forgotten Temple. However, King Selim never gave up and risked everything to protect those places. Unfortunately, he is also merciless within his family, as he expected the same strength from his sons. That is why his sons come to me very often, as everyone in the royal house is under the king's watch. Everything is reported to the king and even injuries that the boys inflict on themselves during hard training can lead to the father's disfavour. You must know, none of them have the same mother and are therefore exposed to constant competition. To avoid brothers of the same blood killing each other to get on the throne, King Selim enforced the law that as soon as a queen gave birth to an heir to the throne, she would be sent to a province with her son. The young prince would then undergo an extensive and rigorous education until the age of 16, so that he would henceforth be allowed to live in the royal court. However, who was allowed to be crowned king was up to the king alone. In the past, the remaining brothers were executed to prevent them from plotting against the new king, which also explains why the boys have no uncles and only aunts. Selim may be a cruel man, but the loss of his brothers also demanded a lot of him, so he decided to change the old law by sending the remaining brothers back to their mothers. Princes also have the choice of establishing themselves in other fields, such as the armed forces.

If we look at the first-born Prince Ecberht; The ambitious and eccentric Ecberht, sees his brothers only as competitors for the royal throne and often gives them a hard time. However, at his young age of 20, he has a strange power to draw attention to himself and also enjoys making big speeches to fire up the crowd. He spends most of his time handling diplomatic affairs in other kingdoms and playfully twists people around his finger. You can recognise him by his different coloured eyes; one green and one blue. He has darker hair than his brothers because his mother, Queen Seaxbourgh has very dark hair and green eyes. Like all princes, he had to be taught martial arts and is consequently very muscular. He has no siblings, as he was the very first child.

Prince Link, the son of the second queen, Queen Aslaug, is a highly talented archer, horse warrior and wields any sword weapon as if it were part of himself. And yet he is only 19 years old and already surpasses any sword master."

Zelda tried not to let on how the name caught her attention, so she turned her face away and turned her attention to the herbs. Dr Borville paused briefly in his narrative to clutch at his painfully cramped back. Meanwhile, she looked for a plant that increased concentration and one that relieved pain. She boiled both with hot water and handed the tea with the pain relief to her master. The doctor's little errand boy returned with a bag of herbs and Zelda motioned for him to sit on her lap and listen in.

"Well, now that we are complete, I can continue the tale... where was I?" asked the senile man.

"At Prince Link's."

"Oh yes exactly! Prince Link, as I said, is not only gifted in the martial arts, but also excels in all the sciences. Some rumour says he is the King's absolute favourite, having inherited his father's acumen and ruthlessness. However, he is not my favourite, as he has a too soft heart, having inherited his mother's sense of justice and mercy. These people only bring trouble and endanger the rules of the monarchy, as was seen years later."

" What happened years later?" asked the little boy, on Zelda's lap, named Nebb. He was just six years young and yet he had to work so hard to help his family.

"Don't be so impatient, you brat!" the doctor grumbled.

Nebb winced imperceptibly, but Zelda didn't miss it and hugged him closer. He looked up at her and thanked her with a smile.

"The problem was that King Selim was so fascinated with her that years later, he bent the rules and fathered a second child with her. Princess Lagertha. She must have reached the age of 12 by now. You can see how dangerous the very existence of such people is for the dynasty's continued operations," he grumbled.

Zelda sighed inwardly. 'Surely this grumpy old man is afraid of everything that is foreign to him,' she thought.

"Anyway, what about the other princes?" she asked instead of speaking her thoughts aloud.

"All right, then. Let us now come to Prince Ragnar. He is the son of the third queen, Bonduca, a queen who was also an army commander and a warrior in body and soul. Ragnar therefore takes after her; a giant, broad-shouldered and a strategic genius. You can see his lust for battle in his eyes. He is generally recognised by his provocative smirk on his face. You can recognise him by his ice-blue eyes and white-blond hair, which he has braided into a complicated knot combined with an undercut. However, he is also a womaniser and no one knows how many bastard sons he has fathered. He may be a battle-strategic genius on the battlefield, but to rule a kingdom he is far too cunning.

Then there is Prince James, the youngest brother. Three years younger than Prince Ecberht. He is the son of the third queen, Queen Elizabeth. Average height, athletic and possesses an immense repertoire of knowledge. Although he has copper hair, a stubbly beard and green eyes, like his mother, he is very calm in contrast to his striking appearance. He is only interested in the relics of the ancient peoples who once developed these titans, shrines and towers. All humbug, in my opinion. At least he has a knack for architecture, infrastructure and finance. He could handle numbers and formulas like no one else in the kingdom and is often consulted by the Sheikah. In my opinion, he should take more interest in it, but nobody asks me. Old people have nothing more to say. What are these relics for? It's not for nothing that they were never used, as no one seems to have needed them! Pah!"

But as the old doctor was getting more into his aggression, a young man in his mid-twenties suddenly came rushing in. Zelda, in a panic, hid the little Nebb behind her and stood in front of the sack of Rupees so as not to create any problems.

"Hand over the rupees the prince left you and no one will get hurt!"

"There was no prince here! Now get out of here before I ram my cane so far up your ass that you can nibble on it with your teeth," said the grim old man, waving his walking stick on his chair.

Zelda, meanwhile, secretly tucked the pouch into her sleeve. "Please don't hurt us, we will give you what we have, but a prince was not here. And we have only the bare necessities."

"I don't believe a word you say! I saw one of the princes come out of this street!" he shouted, waving his short sword around.

"Get out of here, you good-for-nothing dumbass!" the doctor shouted.

Zelda slowly walked to the herb cupboard where her savings were and gave it to the burglar.

"As I said it's not much, but it's all we have. A prince wasn't here either, because as you know they would never set foot in a dump. They are too fine for themselves." She watched expectantly as the man assessed the information and hoped he could not see through it. The man lowered his knife and counted the rupees in the container as she slowly turned to Nebb and gestured with her eyes for him to give her one of the stinking elixirs. Like a ghost, the little boy moved around the room and stealthily handed a bottle to Zelda's hand behind her back. Determined, she held the bottle in her hand and prayed to Hylia to have the courage to do right.

The young man eyed her suspiciously and took out all the money and put it in his belt pouch.

Tensely, Zelda watched what was happening and clutched the bottle like a sprout of hope.

The old man looked at the young man grimly. Zelda inwardly admonished him for saying something rash. This was a dangerous situation in which they would either have to get away with minimal loss or pay with their lives.

Every word and every move would therefore be weighed in the balance.

But suddenly he put away his short sword.

"This time I believe you. But I will watch you. If I see anything conspicuous, I will kill you all and take your money that you are hiding from me."

He left the hut and ran away.

A moment later, all three breathed a sigh of relief. Nebb ran into Zelda's open arms and hugged her tightly. Zelda had gone down on her knees and was relieved that little innocent Nebb did not have to experience any horror.

"We should send the money back to the prince, it's too dangerous to keep it here,” she said to break the tension.

"Absolutely not! We'd be bankrupt without the money and it will starve us for the winter! I'd rather die a quick death than starve to death in freezing cold!" although the old geezer was being stubborn again, Zelda had to agree with him. It was risky, but it was better than starving. She looked at Nebb and immediately regretted her words.

‘His family would starve too,’ she thought gloomily. She kissed his forehead and let him go.

There was another way. And Link was the solution.

"Master, please excuse me for today, I have to go and look after my father," she lied.

"Yes, yes. But in the morning you're going to stand here with full attention again and work the hell out of you."

She nodded and took Nebb's tiny hand. She put the elixir back and walked towards the Royal Castle with the boy by the hand.

Link looked out his window and saw all the lanterns flooding the marketplace with light, music reaching his ears and drawing him magically. The winter solstice had arrived once again, which could only explain one thing about the commotion: The Festival of Lights was being celebrated. For as long as Link could remember, he loved this festival, as it was the best way to mingle with all the peoples of Hyrule and to escape, at least for one evening, from the hard training of princes.

He wondered what he should wear, whether he should stay undercover or reveal himself. He sighed, realising that every single person knew his face anyway. So he decided to put on his white shirt, but the fabric on his arms and chest made them tense, he was gaining muscle from the harder training and excessive food intake. He cursed softly to himself and buttoned the buttons along his muscular torso with difficulty. He pulled on the sapphire blue Prince's tunic, accentuated by golden ornaments at the hem and sleeves. He then pulled on the black and brown leather chest protector with the royal family crest and tied his leather bracers to his forearms. When he was finished with his dark Hylian trousers and leather boots, he tied on his leather belt, which had the seal of the Triforce stamped on it. Link finally threw his cloak around his shoulders and fastened his sword to his belt and strutted out of the palace towards the marketplace with his shoulders erect.

"Oh, beloved big brother Link! Wait for me, I'm coming with you!" a melodic voice shouted behind him as he already caught the dusty smell of earth mixed with wood and snow of the marketplace. Clacking heels ran towards him; he knew the footsteps all too well. He turned and as he spread his arms wide, a petite person jumped into his arms. Link gently set her on her feet and looked at his younger sister. She had her dark blonde long hair braided all the way through and decorated with flowers, and had had a lovely dress in muted colours tailored for the occasion. She looked like a flower child, blessed by the goddess Hylia herself.

"Lagertha my dear little sister. It is good to see you well again. You look wonderful and adorable in your outfit." She smiled sheepishly as Link held out his arm to her and escorted her to the fairground.

"Big brother Link, do you know where our brothers Ragnar, James and Ecberht are? I haven't seen them in a long time, since I was sent to boarding school for girls. You have always been the only one to send me letters and gifts." Although it distressed her, Lagertha had learned not to let anyone know outwardly, but her brother Link, was the only person she could be who she was with.

"Our brothers have never been good with words, especially when it comes to their feelings. Please, bear with them, they still love you with all their hearts and would have any bastard executed on the spot if they so much as touched a hair on your head."

He always knew how she felt and was grateful and relieved that he could understand her without saying much.

"Thank you very much, dear brother. But let us rather celebrate the winter solstice and think of happier things. I'm sure our brothers will be there too." She trilled happily and grinned broadly at him.

He looked down at her and laughed heartily at the underlying irony in her voice. Yes, there was some truth to it, for Ragnar, James and Ecberht were indeed never far away when there was something to celebrate.

Soon the two siblings had reached the marketplace and were watching the colourful swirl of lights, dances and different clans. Happy laughter accompanied the sound of the Goron clan's taiko drums, the Rito's accordion and sweet singing, the Sheikah's shakuhachi flute and the Gerudo's oriental-sounding instruments. Various smells from the stalls rose to their noses and stimulated their curiosity and appetite. Although it was freezing cold, this place seemed like a warming oasis and warmed the hearts of the people. Sporadically, Hylian knights danced with women from different clans, twirling them as their clothes were stirred up by the gyrations.

Link looked at his little sister, who was beaming with joy. At moments like these, he wished his sister could enjoy a simple life, away from the castle.

But then the booming sound of trumpets interrupted him and everything went quiet. The guards had just announced the arrival of the royal family.

All eyes were now on them.

Link felt a strong hand on his left shoulder and looked up.

End of part one

Notes: based on the Zelink reversed roles AU Art of @/TheNebulace on Twitter I had the inspiration to write this multiple chapter Story of Zelda being a healer and Link being a Heir to the Throne.

Many characters name's are based on real npc from botw or are legendary/historically personalities.

Selim:historical chronicles says he was a ruthless and mighty emperor of the ottoman empire who protected the sacred religious grounds until his last breath. Lived in the 15th century

Ragnar: legendary Viking king and (is here) based on his Viking Series character

Lagertha: legendary queen, wife of Ragnar and warrior (here based on the Viking Series character with no relationship to her half brother Ragnar)

Queen Bonduca: [aka Boudicca] historically British Queen and Commander of a Legion 61 AC (here the mother of Ragnar)

Queen Seaxbourgh: historical mother of the historical Ecberht

Ecberht: King of the Wessex in 8th century, fought against the invasion of the Vikings, also here based in the Viking Series character

Queen Elizabeth: historically daughter of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, Tudor-Family. Lived in the 16th century.

James: historical successor of Queen Elizabeth Tudor, has here red hair to honour the red haired Queen Elizabeth Tudor

Nebb & Celessia: NPC from Botw

Part two:

https://freshbreezesworld.tumblr.com/post/639445306711375872/until-my-last-breath

30 notes · View notes

theeternalblue · 4 years ago

Text

maple magic

AN: slightly inspired by @soyforramen prompt secret whispers (for some reason) from her list of prompts here for varchietober

This has a lot of the Blossom twins

---

Nana Rose said Blossoms came in pairs because they could never be lonely - and she also said that if they were three, they’d wake the magic.

“A table with three legs never wobbles,” said the old matriarch as she tapped the table at her side. It was a sign so Mary placed a tray of maple pecan cookies there, where she could reach them. They were her favorites, and one of the reasons why she forgave Mary about not visiting often.

Archie leaned against the wall, watching as his mother mingled effortlessly with the rest of her family. Even if she despised them for the most part, she knew who had paid for law school – this was the price to pay: yearly Blossom family reunion.

The gathering was always held around October because it was when the Blossoms Maple Farms had been founded.

“Ugh, eating cookies and sipping cider is certainly less satisfying each year,” Cheryl comments as she takes a bite of a cookie.

Archie’s mouth tilts up on one side before snickering. “We’re not kids anymore.”

“Cous is right,” Jason offers, throwing an arm around Archie’s shoulders with ease in a half hug. He’s always been the golden child of the family. The heir of a maple empire, the star quarterback of the Riverdale Bulldogs, and the soon to be Yale undergraduate. Funnily enough, the spot of quarterback will be kept in the family when Archie replaces him next year – or at least that’s what Archie hopes. “Any ideas, Cher? I’m sure you have plans.”

Jason chuckles at the way Cheryl smiles, almost wickedly.

“Now that you mention it, JJ, tonight is a new Moon, and that means the start of a cycle and the opening of portals.” She takes a new bite off the cookie and stares at the boys before rolling her eyes because they are not getting whatever she’s trying to say. “Male brains, so unfortunate.”

“Be nice, Cher. We have guests.” Jason is the only person in the universe whose opinions might matter to Cheryl, so she purses her bright red lips and sighs.

“You know I’m very close to Nana Rose and she has told me about every legend in our family history, and also about the magical powers in her gypsy blood that we are very lucky to possess–”

“Cheryl, I don’t like ghost stories.”

“Shush, cousin Archie!” She lifts one finger in front of his face which effectively shuts him up while Jason snickers. “This is a great opportunity to test out powers. Sure, JJ and I have magic but with a third Blossom we could achieve wonderful things.”

“I think we should make a spell so Archie finally dares to ask Veronica on a date,” Jason quips, poking him between the ribs and through the blue sweater his mother made him wear – even though all the Blossoms wear red for these events.

Anyway, Archie is not scared of asking anyone on a date. Veronica Lodge just happens to have managed to politely decline his every attempt even before he could ask. And he would’ve asked the first time he met her in her black cape at Pop’s. She’s simply the girl of his dreams – beautiful with her onyx hair and her dark chocolate eyes, mysterious, smart, with a sweet smile and mellifluous laughter…

Mellifluous is the word Veronica used to describe his guitar playing.

“Is he daydreaming?” Cheryl’s voice interrupts his thoughts.

Jason laughs. “Must hurt, Cher. I heard she now went out on a date with Reggie.”

Yes. It’s true. Archie heard it from Reggie himself as he boasted about it in the locker room after football practice. And the pang in his chest felt even worse than when she dated Chuck Clayton.

“Could you–” Archie tries to ask, but feels his cheeks burning with embarrassment. Is he truly going to resort to magic for a date?

“Ew, no! I’m not going to force anyone to date you.” Cheryl’s disgust is so blatant, it makes Archie take a step back.

“I wasn’t going to ask that. Maybe just to mess with her date?” Archie shakes his head even as he says it.

It’s stupid! Yet, wouldn’t it be fun? After a terrible date, he could sweep Veronica off her feet by giving her the best date ever next weekend.

Cheryl taps a fingernail against her lip, seemingly thinking. “Interesting. Sounds fun, but we wouldn’t see results.” With arms akimbo, she smiles in that way Jason calls the witchy Blossom smile. Before Archie can stop to say no, he’s dragged up to the second floor of Thistle House by Jason and Cheryl.

It’s not the first time he’s been here, but Archie doesn’t like candles, the dark curtains closed during the day, the heavy smell of incense… or the circle with a triangle in it that Cheryl just drew on the floor.

“Sit on one corner.”

Archie does as told, but doesn’t find it as amusing as Jason does. He looks like the Cheshire Cat.

“Cheryl–”

“You talk so much for someone who can’t ask a girl on a date.” Cheryl glares at him, but then takes a deep breath before smiling. “The plan is to discredit your theory that Veronica is your soulmate, so you don’t beat yourself up about not having a date with her.”

Archie cannot believe this, and it’s his turn to glare at his cousin. “So you want to make me feel like an idiot, so I don’t feel miserable?”

“Yes! You’ll thank me later.” Cheryl replies, never losing her smile, and then gives him a lit candle. She does the same with Jason. “Okay, boys, focus on the flame and repeat after me…”

Archie repeats whatever she says because he just wants Cheryl to shut up. Maybe now she’ll stop babbling about this nonsense of how the Blossom blood is powerful and the magic of the maple trees and the moon…

Why is the room spinning?

When did the candle become so bright?

He lifts his gaze and sees a mirror, but it cannot be a mirror because that’s not him. The image looking back is Veronica as she gets her pearl earrings on. She looks so pretty with her hair half up, with the burgundy top and her dark berry lips.

“Ronnie,” Archie tries to call and Veronica’s movements still. Her eyes widen as she looks at herself in the mirror of her vanity. “You look incredible. You are incredible.”

“Archie?” she whispers, alone in her room, looking around her as if she’d find him. “What–”

“You can hear me?”

Her dark eyes return again to the mirror and she nods slowly, afraid. “Where are you? How-”

“I don’t know. Oh, shit, I hope I’m not dead. Could I be a ghost? Did Cheryl kill me? I only wanted to ask you out on one date. For you to give me one chance.”

“Archie,” Veronica mutters, “You’re... in my head. It’s your voice.”

“I’m watching you.”

She turns around sharply.

“Shit! No, not like that. Cheryl, she made a spell. She said she’d prove you’re not my soulmate.”

“How would she do that? And why would you let her– wait, you don’t need to answer that. It’s Cheryl.” Veronica keeps looking at the details of her face in the mirror as if she could find him in them.

“I don’t know! She made us repeat something about mirrors and what we had found. Show me what I found in my other half. Or something.”

“Archie?” Veronica keeps talking in whispers.

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

She giggles. He can see it in the mirror, how her eyes light up and her lips curve up in a bright smile.

“Ronnie?” Archie calls desperately as her image begins to fade. “Ronnie?”

Archie blinks a couple of times before he can feel himself being shaken by someone. He can see the dark room again, the candles, smell the incense.

“Archie!” Jason is about to slap him but Archie stops him by pushing him away and standing up quickly. “What the hell? Are you okay? You passed out!”

“Where’s my phone?” Archie babbles instead, looking for it like a mad man.

“Did you see anything?” Cheryl asks as she hands him the phone he had left on top of her dresser.

“Veronica!”

“What? Are you serious?” Cheryl frowns and it becomes deeper as Archie hurries out of the room and Jason stands before her, taking her by the shoulders and looking too pleased with her anger.

“You owe me fifty bucks, sis. I told you. You might have the gypsy blood, but soulmates? I know about that.”

#varchie #varchie fanfiction #varchietober #[mine]#cheryl blossom #jason blossom #humor

20 notes · View notes

weshallc · 4 years ago

Text

BERNS NIGHT (Revisited)

Call the Midwife AU Crown Jewels fic (this one actually has Bernie in! She must have been in panto or something in January missed a few chapters)

CHAPTER FOUR: There In Thy Scanty Mantle Clad.

“There, in Thy Scanty Mantle Clad, Thy Snawie Bosom Sunward Spread.” To a Mountain Daisy by Robert Burns 1786

"I Hear Your Footsteps in the Streets, it Won't Be Long Until We Meet. It's Obvious." Oblivious by Aztec Camera 1983

“Ouch, be careful!”

“Well stand still, Paddy,” Trixie scolded, “and I won’t accidentally prick you.”

“Is this really necessary?” whined the publican, not for the first time that hour.

“You want it the right length, don’t you?” admonished the determined dressmaker.

“That’s too short.” Paddy grumbled, swaying unsteadily on the rickety foot stool.

“No, it’s not.”

Patsy interrupted the squabbling confirming the kilt should hang from the top of the hip and finish at the top of the knee.

“This one is too high.” Paddy fiddled with the waistband.

“No, it’s not! It sits at the navel.” Getting up from her knees, Trixie playfully poked Paddy in the belly button.

The temporary male model wasn’t amused, and Delia felt some sympathy. “Right Doc, take it off now, so Chummy can alter it.”

Paddy hopped off the footstool, the green and blue checked woollen garment swaying around his thighs. He grabbed his jeans and headed out of Patsy’s studio towards the downstairs loo. Patsy, Delia and Trixie didn’t wait until he had closed the door behind him before they burst into giggles.

Saturday 25th January 2020

Bernie wouldn’t want anyone to accuse her of being ungrateful, but she would have much rather spent her birthday at work. To be back in Poplar-on-Tweaven working behind the bar with Paddy rather than traipsing around Newcastle city centre with Trixie.

Saturday’s were usually fun at the Crown. Sundays you could always predict to be busy, due to the temptation of Violet’s Sunday lunches and the let’s have a nice day in the country crowd. Saturday’s were more unpredictable a lot depending on whether there was a match on. The football crowd had made Bernie nervous at first, but she had taken her lead from Val, who seemed to know the right mix between flirting and being one of the lads. She even surprised herself with her knowledge of the offside-rule and recognising a few players when they came in during the off-season.

“So, what about this one?” Trixie’s irritated voice broke through Bernie’s wistfulness. They were standing in Fenwick’s department store. Her friend was holding up a black mini dress bearing a large faint gold and red criss-cross pattern.

“Isn’t it a bit tartanie?” Bernie screwed up her nose.

Trixie tried very hard not to give anything away. “What’s wrong with tartan, your Scottish, don’t you just love tartan?”

Bernie bit her lip and tried to keep a level of calmness in her voice, “I am not that kinda Scottish.”

Trixie clanged the hanger back onto the rail in frustration. Bernie felt a twinge of guilt for exasperating her well-meaning friend.

“I will probably just wear my good jeans and a sparkly top, Trixie.” Bernie tried to reassure, with little success.

“But, Paddy is taking you out somewhere nice tonight, surely you want to look the part?”

Bernie took a deep breath, “The part?...the part of Paddy’s date! I am thinking jeans and a nice wee top will do just fine, Trixie.”

It was several hours later, Bernie was looking at herself in the oak Cheval mirror in the corner of her bedroom. The little black dress with the red and gold criss-crosses did look quite nice on and it did have pockets, so that was a bonus. She heaved up her 40 denier black tights one last time. Why did they never make the small, small enough? She smiled, knowing if Chummy were in the room she would ask why they didn’t make extra large, extra enough.

A frown reflected back at her as she fiddled with her hair. Trixie had insisted on styling it with a mountain of product she had brought back from Boots. As a result, it now seemed to flick out in all directions. The would-be stylist had been very pleased with the finished article, and Bernie had smiled and made positive noises. She really wanted to put a brush through it and tie it back in a scrunchie like she did most days. Trixie’s sixth sense clicked in and she growled, “Leave it.”

They set out, tottering the short distance from Bernie’s cottage to the Crown Inn. Arm-in-arm, more for stability than out of friendship. Trixie in nine months of living just outside of Poplar had still not mastered walking on cobbles in heels. Bernie more used to ankle boots and trainers had let Trixie talk her into buying a pair of black below-the-knee boots in the January sales. Until today, the labels hadn’t been removed. She was convinced the young saleswoman and her friend had been in collusion. Eventually the overwhelming smell of leather, shoe polish and sweaty feet on an empty stomach had rendered the usually stubborn Bernie vulnerable. Well-honed sales techniques and Trixie’s promise of a Greggs’ vegan sausage roll to offset the purchase of leather eventually triumphed. These boots were definitely not made for walking, Bernie decided. She was however glad of the extra fabric as the north wind whistled around her shorter than usual hem line.

As if sensing her friend's awkwardness, Trixie squeezed her arm a little more tightly. “You look amazing, just don’t scuff those killer, fuck-me boots on the cobbles.”

This warning unsurprisingly had the opposite effect than intended, as Bernie stuttered to an abrupt halt and dropped her friend's arm.

“What?” Bernie shrieked in horror. Trixie grabbed back hold of her stabilizer and dragged her along, laughing so infectiously that Bernie couldn’t help but succumb.

“Why are you so tarted up anyway for a night in the Crown?”

“It’s your birthday and I thought you would be having a drink before heading off with Paddy. Just because it is a country pub doesn’t mean everyone has to always wear wellies and a jumper with a hole in it.”

Bernie’s mock indignation at Trixie’s jibe resulted in a snort as she tried to hold in a laugh. They were still sniggering as Trixie lunged forward and steadied herself by slapping her hand heavily against the inn’s bay window. She pulled herself up and then slapped her hand against the window one more time. Bernie, who was still giggling, just shrugged at her friend's clumsy behaviour.

“Bit slippy there, have to tell Paddy about that.” Trixie straightened up and smiled nervously.

“OK.” Bernie nodded somewhat bemused as she pushed open the large wooden doors of the old inn.

Bernie later couldn’t recall if it was her eyes that first alerted her that something was different; the darkness giving the game away. Or it could have been her ears as they picked up the deep drone of the bagpipes. Maybe it was neither. Her skin tingling with goosebumps was more than likely the first sign that all was not as it should be.

After that initial physical reaction, her mind seemed to give up trying to make any sense of anything. It all became a blur. She remembered Trixie pushing her in the back and into the bar and placing something around her shoulders. There had definitely been cheering and then a very tuneless rendition of Happy Birthday accompanied by the bagpipes and a small band.

The pipes - bashful Kevin and his wee dog. At first she had thought Paddy or somebody had bought her a pet for her birthday. The poor wee thing was used to sitting and looking cute outside the town hall. Raising a paw every time someone dropped a coin in Kev’s mug. The animal had become a little overwhelmed by the commotion and sheer volume of people. Realizing that the lady who had just come through the door must be somehow responsible for the change in ambience; he could not resist jumping up at the new arrival with great enthusiasm. His owner was horrified, but unsure what was more important; to reprimand his charge or keep playing. Fortunately, the situation was resolved when a large pair of hands gently scooped up the tiny mongrel and calmed him down by whispering in his ear and letting him lick his face.

Bernie remembered Violet telling Reggie to take the excited guest through the back for a biscuit. The commotion had given Bernie time to take it all in, the low lighting, the table centres made up of thistles and blue and purple hyacinths, each with a thick white candle, flames dancing a jig on every table. The black, royal blue and red tartan tablecloths and a larger trestle table covered with a different checked pattern, a lighter blue and green with gold.

Bernie wasn’t given long to take it all in, as she was overwhelmed by hugs and kisses. Mostly from people she knew like the Noakes’, Fred, Jane, Phyllis and Julia along with a few she didn’t know, which was a bit disconcerting. Along with the displays of affection, cards and packages that were also pressed into her. Finding it very difficult to accept all the hugs from her friends and free herself from those who weren’t, Bernie found it impossible to balance all the gifts too. Fortunately Trixie had been prepared for this and took on the role of a lady-in-waiting, as if Bernie had suddenly been crowned the Princess of Poplar. The village's newest resident relished her role as best friend, relieving Bernie of her burdens as swiftly as she received them. Trixie may have had a colourful life, but she did like to be of use.

It was Val who finally rescued her from the wall of wellwishers. Taking Bernie by the hand, she took her behind the bar and up the stairs to the living accommodation. “Are you ready for your present?”

Exasperated by the recent unexpected events and not knowing what to expect next, Bernie just shrugged her shoulders. Secretly she was enjoying the calm of the Turner flat and not being the centre of attention. Val gave her a quick squeeze and told her, “Happy birthday, chick.” Opening the door to Paddy’s living room she added winking,

“You’re welcome.”

#call the midwife #berns night revisited #my grumpy girl is back

7 notes · View notes

ladyviolethummingbird · 5 years ago

Note

Hello, dear! I’m suffering from M&T withdrawal 😬 how’s next chapter going? Maybe a sneak peek??

Hello!

Given it’s been taking me well over a month (sometimes 2! 🤦🏻‍♀️) to write the last few chapters, I’d ordinarily say it’s far too early for a preview but you’re in luck! I’ve actually managed to get about 1/3 done already so here’s a little preview. Might change it before the eventual posting but I’m happy enough with it for now!

Thanks again for your continued interest in this story xx

Mint & Thistles 🌿🍃🌷

Chapter 29 - The Top Drawer (Preview)

“And Jamie was just standing there with her like their marriage was fine and dandy?! I’d have slapped the smile right off his smug face, the two-timing arsehole!”

“That’s why I need to apologise Joe. You were right about everything; Jamie, Ann, their marriage... but because I’m such a self-involved moron, I ignored all of your warnings and advice. I’ve been a shitty friend, I’m so sorry”

“Hey! That’s my BFF you’re talking about!” Joe exclaimed with a flourish, earning a small smile from me. Expression turning serious, he put a comforting arm around my shoulders and continued:

“While I appreciate the apology babe, it’s unnecessary. You were following your heart, that can only ever be a good thing”

“You don’t think I got what I deserved for taking up with a married man?”

“Taking up with him? He was the one that pursued you after you said you wanted space when you were worried about getting too close. If anyone’s to blame for this, it’s him. No one was holding a gun to the guy’s head”

“Maybe if I hadn’t been so damn sure I was right I’d have stopped long enough to see all the red flags. What kind of judge of character am I when I think I’m in love with someone who was just playing me?”

“Ok, so Jamie turned out to be lying, but hindsight is 20:20; you did what you thought was right at the time. Take some time to process before you jump into a character-assassination of my friend Claire, please”

Talking with Joe was a soothing balm on my hellfire of a day. Without pressing for details I wasn’t ready to give, he listened patiently through my semi-incoherent rants that probably made less and less sense with the more wine I drank. Eyes puffy with tears, in the early hours of the morning I finally fell into a fitful sleep; body and mind aching for Jamie in spite of the hurt he’d caused.

#mint & thistles #chapter 29 #preview #thanks for the ask #madamfraser

101 notes · View notes

destielstuffandthings · 5 years ago

Text

Growing- Chapter Two

This is the second part of my lost fic! I honestly have no idea how many chapters this is turn out to be so hang in there.

Dean finished informing his last client about the rose bushes. The old man basically just nodded and shoved a check in Dean’s direction before closing the door in his face.

“Old asshole,” Dean mumbled, stuffing the check in his pocket. He looked down the street as he walked to his truck, watching Castiel pace back and forth on his lawn. He tossed his equipment in the back of the truck and headed down the sidewalk.

“You’re gonna need a new lawn if you keep that up. Wearin’ a patch in the grass,” Dean joked.

Castiel whipped around and smiled, cocking an eyebrow. “I suppose I should hire someone to fix that, then. Know anyone?”

Dean tipped his head back and barked a laugh. “Yeah, yeah I might know somebody.” He surveyed the yard and the lack of foliage in it. “So, what’re we thinkin’ here? You plan on planting flowers, bushes, shrubs?”

Castiel just stared at the other man blankly. “I-- have no idea, honestly. This is probably more my wife’s area. Would you mind if I--” Castiel hooked his thumb over his shoulder towards the house.

Dean waved a hand. “Nah, man go for it. Happy wife, happy life, right?”

Castiel raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “I wouldn’t know,” he huffed as he turned to head into the house.

“Ok, weird,” Dean mumbled to himself. He pretended to check out the grass and scuffed his toe in the dirt while he waited.

“Dean?” a voice called from the doorway.

“Yes, ma’am. Dean Winchester, nice to meet you.”

“I’m Abaddon--Abbey. Call me Abbey. So, my husband tells me you’re a landscaper? Do you do all the yards in the area?”

Dean nodded. “Most of them, yeah. I just finished Mr. Herberts just down the street.” He pointed towards the house. Abbey looked over his shoulder and hummed. “We can go as basic or crazy as ya want, but just so you know, I’ve had a few complaints on hedges over four feet tall. Some of the neighbors are pretty nosy so they like to be able to look over ‘em and see what you’re up to,” he laughed and put his hands on his hips.

Abbey smiled and shook her head. “Yeah, we’ve already had a few people walk by about three times. Not exactly subtle.” She clicked her tongue and tapped her toe. “Ok, so, here’s what I’m thinking.”

An hour later, Dean had a good working idea of what Abbey wanted done. Nothing too fancy, just a few rose bushes, tulips lining the pathway to the house, and the tallest hedges Dean could find.

“Here’s my card, call me whenever you wanna get started on this patch of dirt, k?”

“Thank you so much, Dean!” Abbey called from the porch.

Dean tipped his hat and waved as he climbed into the truck. Leaning back on the headrest, he closed his eyes and breathed out a long sigh. Blue eyes and crooked smiles flashed through his mind.

‘Nope. Not thinkin’ about that,” Dean mumbled to himself. The man was married, anyway. “Just a client,” he whispered as he started the engine and drove away.

The next morning Dean was weeding Mrs. Fletchers garden when his phone rang.

“Winchester Lawn and Landscaping,” he answered and pinned the phone to his ear with his shoulder.

“Dean?”

“Yeah who’s this?”

“Castiel. Castiel Novak. You came and surveyed my--”

“I remember,” Dean said quickly. Of course he remembered. How could he forget that face and that wild hair. The way his eyes crinkled---nope. Dean shook his head to clear the intruding thoughts. “What’s up, Cas?”

The line was silent for a moment.

“I um, I got your number from the card you gave Abbey. I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“Not at all, just ripping up some weeds. You know, livin’ the dream,” Dean grunted as he pulled up a thistle from the root.

He heard Castiel chuckle over the line, which shouldn’t make his stomach flip, but it definitely did.

“Well, if you’re schedule allows, would you be able to come by tomorrow and start working on the yard? Abbey has already bought about $200 worth of flowers.” He clicked his tongue. “Once she gets into something there’s no stopping her. I apologize in advance. She can be a little....overbearing.”

Dean tossed the root to the side and stood up, stretching his back. “Nah, it’s ok. I guarantee I’ve had worse. This ex client of mine wanted me to cover her house in ivy and didn’t understand that it just grew that way over the years. She told me to just staple it.”

Castiel laughed outright. “Well I can promise you she won’t be that bad. She won’t be here most of the time anyway. She’s a lawyer and I’m a writer so I work out of my office.”

“Gotcha. Ok, well sure. I have a job at three tomorrow but I can come over after that. Should be around five, five thirty.”

“Sounds great. I’ll see you then, Dean.”

“See ya, Cas.”

Dean stuffed the phone in his pocket and smiled as he continued ripping out weeds.

“Honey, I’m home!” Dean called from the kitchen. He kicked off his boots and groaned.

“In here!” a voice called from across the house.

Dean padded through the kitchen and into the bedroom.

“Wow, Lis.” he gasped.

“Do you like it?” Lisa clasped her hands in front of her chest and smiled.

“I--it’s. It’s really....purple.” Dean walked over and ran his finger down the newly hung wallpaper.

“I saw it in town today and I just had to have it.” She took a small step forward and lightly slapped Deans hand. “No touching. It isn’t dry yet.” She kissed his cheek and pulled him down on the bed. “I was thinking we could get new bedding to match it.”

Dean groaned as he laid back on the bed with his legs hanging off. “Really? More purple?”

Lisa poked him in the side playfully. “Aw, come on. It’ll look so nice in here.” She fake pouted and lifted his shirt up a few inches, running her nails over Dean’s hip bone. “Plus,” she said with a wink, “you said I could be in charge of the bedroom.”

Dean chuckled and pulled her down on top of him. “Oh, I think we both know you’re in charge.”

#supernatural #dean winchester #castiel novak #abaddon #lisa braeden #landscaper #writer #my fic #My writing

8 notes · View notes

alicescripts · 7 years ago

Text

Part 3, Chapter 3: “Means of Escape”

Keisha: Beyond the sink is a bed. Sitting on the bed is a person in a gray hoodie, hood pulled up. Their face is lost in the shadow. But I think I know now I could go as close as I wanted to that hood, and still wouldn’t be able to see a face.

They sit on the edge of the bed, body toward us, a hand on each thigh. I expect to feel a wave of powerful energy coming off of them, but I don’t.

Alice: A cloud passes over the sun. It gets dim in the trailer.

Keisha: “We’ve come a long way to talk to you,” I say. They say nothing back. Anxiety is working my gut, but it does the same when I’m ordering pancakes at a truck stop, when I’m getting up to pee in the middle of the night. I can’t trust my anxiety.

Alice: But there were no clouds in the sky.

Keisha: “Hello?” I say. Silly. If they wanted to respond, they would.

I reach out, hesitant but knowing what I need to do. I touch them. They slump backwards. The Oracle is dead.

Alice: From outside, I hear a wet huffing and whooping. I don’t even have to look out the window to know…

Keisha: The trailer is surrounded by Thistle Men.

Alice Isn’t Dead by Joseph Fink. Performed by Jasika Nicole and Erica Livingston. Produced by Disparition. Part 3, Chapter 3: “Means of Escape”.

Alice: I don’t know where this trip started, what counts as the first moment, but for lack of a better answer, I’ll start with this. I’ll start with the amazing painted rocks.

I needed to pee, and it seemed a more interesting stop than a fast food place. As I was coming back from the bathroom, I went to look at the rocks, because why not, right? I was there.

They were better than they had looked when Keisha and I came back years later, but not by much. They were rocks, they were painted. They delivered on both fronts. As I stood there, I noticed movement on the rise above the rocks, a person thrashing around. Choking maybe, or a heart attack. No, not a person, two people. A man attacking a woman.

I have anxiety too, I don’t know if Keisha ever knew that. But my anxiety doesn’t turn inwards. I project it. I see the whole world as being as scared as I am, and I get this irresistible urge to come to its defense.

So I ran up that hill and attacked the man. His skin was baggy and his teeth were sharp. He was strong.

I had misunderstood my abilities in this situation. But the woman who he had attacked clambered to her feet and together we fought him. She pulled a knife from her belt, stabbed him through the throat. He gurgled, leaked yellow pus and fell to the ground.

I couldn’t move. We had killed someone. But the woman, she didn’t look at the man we had killed, she looked only at me. “My name is Lucy,” she said, “and most people wouldn’t have done what you just did. We could use a woman like you. How would you feel about a job?

Keisha: A patter of hands on the outside of the trailer. Gravity made wild moves. They were pushing the trailer back and forth, tipping it over just for the fun of knocking us around before the real violence began.

The body of the oracle we had come to see fell sideways onto the mattress, and then slumped to the floor as light and small as a child. I started toward them, but what would be the point? They were gone. Soon we would be too.

[howls] “Ahoooooooooooooo!” said a voice from the outside. [spitty] “Lumffffffffffffffffff,” shouted another. The Thistle Men were getting excited.

I took Alice’s hand, I kept my eyes on the body of the oracle, and then the oracle was alive again. They were still limp on the ground but also simultaneously standing over their own body. [whispers] “I’m already dead! Run! RUN!” the oracle said. And then there was only the body.

In my head, I saw a black boat floating forever at the mouth of a river. I pulled Alice with me out of the trailer. There were at least 20 Thistle men and they cheered upon seeing us, but I concentrated on a gap in their number and I made for the SUV. I wasn’t ten feet away when I saw the SUV had been disabled. Tires slashed, steering wheel sitting in the passenger seat.

The exhaustion of my despair was mixed with an adrenaline jolt of fear. Behind us, the Thistle Men flapped their lips as they tore toward us, making a strange jittering sound.

Alice: I took the job. If there were monsters in the world, then I couldn’t pretend everything was fine. I have the urge always to protect, and so I followed that urge.

It was torture hiding it from Keisha. But I had already been going regularly on business trips. I kept the same schedule, but instead of selling bathroom supplies to large office clients, Lucy and I hunted down the Thistle Men.

When we weren’t working, Lucy trained me. Hand to hand combat, first aid, target shooting, basic tactics. The tedious step by tiny step nature of detective work. Most of all, she trained me to trust her.

It was the murder of Bernard Hamilton when it happened. We were looking over the body and I thought, “Oh my god. This feels normal. This feels like a day on any job.”

And I didn’t recognize myself, this person who was so used to violence. My heart surged. I couldn’t breathe. I was in a panic over how calm I was. I didn’t let it show. I kept doing the job.

It went on this way for years, maybe could have gone that way forever, but circumstances changed and my double life became untenable.

Keisha: The Thistle Men were on us and we kicked and pushed them, pulling each other along, staying just ahead of their grasping hands. There was an old sedan, a boxy 90’s model. The tires were low, looked like it barely run. One of the vehicles that Thistle had arrived with, presumably. We made it to the car, and the keys were in the ignition. Alice fought off a particularly fast Thistle Man, and then fell backwards into the car next to me.

“This is in (all wheel drive)”, I said. “How did they even get this out here?” but there was no time to consider that, I could only do my best to steer it away from any ruts or patches of heavy sand that would snare it.

I pointed it toward the highway and started driving. Soon we were a good mile away, and I was able to start breathing again. “Foolish,” I said. “Just foolish.” “At least we’re safe,” said Alice, and I went to slap her shoulder for jinxing us, when the car ran right into a hole I hadn’t seen and stopped dead. I tried to start it, but whatever dark power had kept its old engine together was done. The car was done.

Alice: Thistle was going after family members. Lucy told it to me plain with a minimum of emotion. She never got emotionally invested in much. She wasn’t cold, just – practical.

The family members of Bay and Creek operatives were being found out and murdered. Word wasn’t coming down from the top, because they didn’t want panic, but Lucy thought I should know.

The choice was simple to me. I needed to leave Bay and Creek. I believed in what we were doing, believed in the importance of our fight, but Keisha was (all of it) for me, and I wasn’t gonna give her up.

“It won’t work,” Lucy told me. “Thistle won’t care if you’re still active, they’re in it for the carnage, not the strategy. And how much worse will it be without Bay and Creek’s protection?” I didn’t know what to do. I stopped sleeping, mostly stopped eating. I had joined because I wanted Keisha and everyone like her to be safe, and now my actions had put her in even more danger than before.

Lucy kept bringing me stories, more Bay and Creek operatives dead. Chaos in the head office. No one knew what to do.

That last time I left home, I thought I would come back. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Keisha, who was frightened about even the minutia of daily living. Having to face one of those boneless loose-skinned boogeymen? She would be helpless, and it would be my fault. I would indirectly be her murdered.

So I didn’t come back. It destroyed me. But I am a protector, I had to remove myself from Keisha’s life, letting her think that I had died. I just didn’t know any other way to do it.

Keisha: We had been walking for two hours and still no highway. I was staring to lose sense of direction. For all I knew, we were heading deeper into the wilderness. The afternoon heat was brutal. We had no water, and so we carried our thirst in our bodies. Thirst is heavy. It made us slow, made us stoop. The howls of the Thistle Men came from all sides. Hooting and laughing and whooping. We couldn’t tell distance at all. They could be right upon us or miles back.

I stopped, looked back at Alice. What were we doing? If this was it, did we want to spend the end wandering purposelessly? “Keep going,” she said. [sighs] “Keep going where?” I said. I searched out surroundings, not recognizing any landmark. And then, I saw a glint against the horizon and pointed at it before I knew what I was looking at. I thought of a time in Death Valley, a light in the sky above the Badlands. Alice laughed in relief. “A reflection off a car,” she said. “It’s the highway. [sighs] Oh, thank god you saw that.” “Yeah,” I said, “Thank god.” I don’t know what I saw.

We were so close to the highway, maybe 40 more feet, when I heard Alice gasp. I turned. A Thistle Man, his crooked baggy face grinning at me, as he squeezed his arm around my wife’s throat.

Alice: It felt as though the part of me that was human was gone. What is a person outside of the context of others? As George Eliot wrote: “What do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult to each other?” Stripped of that, I still ate and breathed and shit, but I was not Alice. And I wanted nothing more than to be Alice.

I took no comfort in my hollowness, there is nothing romantic about it. It was a sickness, and I had left the only cure behind. Home was a person and I wanted to go home.

“How would you explain it to her?” Lucy said to me. “Where would you say you’ve been?” “I don’t know,” I told her. “I’ll figure it out.” “No,” Lucy said. “You try to explain it to me, right now, out loud. Where you’ve been as though you were talking to Keisha. I wanna hear the story you’d tell.” Of course I couldn’t. I couldn’t. The conversation ended there.

Month passed, then one day I considered a sight that had become ubiquitous in my life. The news crews covering the violent event we were investigating that day. In my despair, I stopped and I watched the crew film. Without allowing myself to think about what I was doing, I pushed my way through and stood at the front of the crowd of onlookers and I stared straight into the camera. Hoping that somehow, Keisha would end up on the other side of the stare.

Lucy was furious, as you can imagine. But I didn’t stop. A fire outside of Tacoma. Landslide in Thousand Oaks. A hostage situation in Saint Joseph. I kept doing it. Would I have done if it I had known it would lead Keisha to doing what she did? Probably not. I had sacrificed everything to keep her safe, and here my impulsiveness sent her careening out into the most dangerous places of all.

Keisha: [breathless] “Run,” said Alice. “Just run, please!” The Thistle Man snorted. It sounded like a boot pulling out of mud. [terrifying] “Yeah, run chipmunk,” he oozed. “Run away.” Branches cracking interview eh brush around us, yelps close by. Alice was sobbing and she was mouthing ��go” over and over as the ropey arms circled her tighter and tighter.

Well fuck that and fuck the Thistle Men! I charged toward him, howling back sounding for all the world like one of them. I had become more than willing to meet their violence with my own, and I had learned a thing or two about how to do that. Alice thrashed as her oxygen was fully cut off, but I was already driving my thumbs into both of the Thistle Man’s eyes, pushing inward and upward as hard as I could, until I felt them squish beneath me. He screamed and let Alice loose, thrashing blindly at me. His hand connected with my head once then twice, and the world went away for a moment. I couldn’t hear out of one ear, I could hardly see.

Alice regained her breath, went in for a kick but caught the rebound from one of his swings and was on the ground again. He turned, sensing her vulnerability, and I used that moment to heft a rock and take it to him, over and over until he was down, Alive but incapacitated, in a puddle of that yellow glob that fills their bodies. “Hffffffffffffff,” he shouted at me. “Woooooooooooooooo.” I used the rock one last time, right onto his face, and he didn’t say anything after that. “We have to go,” I said to Alice, pulling her up. “I’ll help you,” she said, trying to put her arm around me and I could almost laugh. Almost. “Hun, you can hardly walk. I will be helping you.” I could hear out of my one good ear that the rest of the Thistle Men were upon us. I pulled us the last 30 feet to the highway, where I began wildly waving for help. a truck driver stopped and I hurriedly but successfully convinced him that we were one of his kind and just needed to get a ride to whatever the next town was.

From there, we were able to rent another car. We got the nicest one they had, because we knew that our line of credit would be burned anyway once the other rental company realized they weren’t getting their car back. So might as well run up that bill if we were gonna skip out on it.

The nicest one they had was only OK. It was a small town agency. And from there, back to Midland and our truck.

As we pulled up to our home on the road ,I stopped the car and turned to Alice. “I saved you,” I said. “I saved you, OK? So go ahead, kid yourself that everything you did was because I needed protection and so that justifies it somehow. But you remember this. you remember that I saved you and not the other way around.” I got out of the car and into our truck, and from there we went out of town and onto Texas, and onto whatever was gonna happen to us next.

Today’s quote: “Does anyone suppose a private prayer is necessarily candid, necessarily goes to the roots of action? Private prayer is inaudible speech, and speech is representative. Who can represent himself such as he is, even in his own reflections?” from Middlemarch by George Eliot. Thanks for listening.

#alice isn't dead #part 3 #part 3 chapter 3 #means of escape

32 notes · View notes

skullkxd · 2 years ago

Text

Yeah, five years ago was five years after Ree left. So they wouldn’t have known about it … but maybe Thistle does? Ree notes that in their head to ask them later. Thistle could answer about that, maybe. They don’t want to bother Red with a million questions. Ree reaches over to test their teacup, and — yeah, still too hot. They take a minute to just reorientate themself again — and their face lights up when Red talks about Guzma.

“yeah! He’s the greatest!! You’re like, one of the only grownups to get that he’s a good guy,” they say, voice getting excited as they’re hands start to move along with their words. “It’s been great living here! And I’m a ball of human destruction in training!”

they seem so proud of that. Ree’s smiling so wide it almost hurts their face. The child giggles, and ducks their head to kiss the top of Branchie’s. The Corsola coos and blows some more bubbles.

“nope! A deals a deal,” 200P!” They proclaim, slapping the bills on the table, insisting. “And if you won’t take it for the polish, then take it for my part of lunch! Okay?”

— seems like Red has unlocked a new level of friendship for Ree. They look pretty comfortable.

skullkxd:

the PWT? … Ree doesn’t know what that is. It’s finger spelled, so it’s an acronym, but … they hadn’t heard of it when they lived there. Then again, that was nearly ten years ago — so a lot’s probably changed, in Unova. Ree just takes another bite of their malasada, and Branchie curls in their lap.

“I don’t remember a lot. I was little when I moved here,” they admit. “I was six. I just remember the city being noisy, and the bodega we stopped at, and the dreamyard, and my brothers.”

— the king? Ree’s eyebrows scrunch up as they try to hide a smile — does Red mean Guzma? Boss? … king is a weird way to address him, but not wrong, they suppose.

“boss and the guys took me in when I was homeless,” they say. “They raised me. And …”

the kid slips a hand into their pocket, pulling out a handful of bills.

“Pewter Polish. Uh, I can — I can pay for that! With my winnings…”

‘-Pokemon World Tournament. They started hosting it five years ago, I think. I liked it. Got detained for twenty hours though by the police and missed half the second day’s matches.’

He snorts, and laughs about it. He signs ‘Skull King’. Skulking. It’s a pun. Hardly anybody signs around here anyways to understand it.

‘Yeah? I like him. He’s a cool guy. Tough as nails too. Love to battle him sometime. Good man to take you in. Seems like he’s really somebody you look up to, too.’

No surprise. Guzma’s got the charisma of a champion to pull everyone together. Red takes a break from it to wolf down food though. It’s all good. He might have a new place. He might pull Green there tomorrow or the next day when they’re done with their rotations. He sets his fork down and takes a sip of tea to wash down a thousand different flavors.

‘Sure. I got it for 500 P. Used it some so I’ll hand it over for 200.’

And he slings off his bag to rummage through it and find… a ten year old case of polish and an expression that says, ‘Hmm maybe not’.

‘Actually do you just want it? I forgot how long ago I got this. Still works just looks like I threw it into a bomb.’

And it does… look like he threw it into a bomb. It’s a circular, burnt tin that’s half melted and warped. The label is half peeled off but has a geodude on it, smiling.

Red sets it on the table and waves off the money.

#blastburned

16 notes · View notes

sunbrights · 7 years ago

Note

mahiru/natsumi - impatiens, thistle, quince (off topic, but you write actual masterpieces, im in love)

(on topic: thank you!! I’m really glad you like them! I hope you like this one, too! 😊)

impatiens: impatience

thistle: misanthropy

quince: temptation

(Also, everyone’s free to drop me a character/pairing + flower(s) from this meme if you still want to! It might take me longer to get to them, but my askbox is always open.)

All of her pictures of Natsumi are wrong.

They aren’t bad. The group shots especially are nice; she has plenty of Natsumi mugging shamelessly for the camera, her elbow hooked around Yume’s neck. They’re just not right. Off.

Why isn’t a mystery. (Even Natsumi’s spontaneous grins feel guarded and manufactured, and always have.) But time is running out. Graduation is looming, only months away, and her record still feels incomplete.

The three of them go shopping one day during winter break. Yume has to leave early, her mother calling her home to help with her little brother, so Mahiru and Natsumi get crepes and detour to a little park off of the outdoor mall.

Mahiru picks out a bench, to eat and to people watch. Natsumi trails behind her, tapping at her phone with her free thumb. “Ooooh, guess who made it to the front page of the Hope’s Peak message board?” she calls. “You’re moving up in the world, Ma-chan!”

Mahiru rolls her eyes. “You shouldn’t buy into websites like that,” she says. She wraps the top of her crepe in a napkin and balances it in her lap. “It’s so early. What could they possibly have to scout?”

She snaps pictures, while she has the chance. Young adults with their dogs, parents with their children, older couples walking together. Natsumi sits cross-legged beside her and eats, her crepe in one hand and her phone in the other.

“You’re thinking too small,” she says. “Now is when the real frontrunners show up, you know. They’re already saying my brother’s a shoo-in for a spot next year. Maybe you should try paying more attention.”

Natsumi smiles at her sideways, and— there. That’s the kind of photo Mahiru wants. The muted curve of her mouth, the winter-pale freckles across her nose, the rosiness of her cheeks in the cold.

She’s not quick enough, though. Natsumi takes a too-big bite of her crepe, and the moment is gone. Chocolate smears at the corner of her mouth.

Mahiru sighs. “You’re making a mess, Na-chan,” she says. She holds out a spare napkin. “Left side.”

Natsumi waves the napkin away. She chases the spot of chocolate with her tongue instead, a peek of pink between her lips.

“Quit bothering with these jerks,” she says, waving her crepe in a wide arc, “and let’s talk strategy.”

The final term of the school year starts. The photography club gears up for elections, to pick new officers to replace Mahiru and the other graduating third years.

Natsumi acts like she doesn’t want the president spot, but she’s surly the whole week after she doesn’t get it. She comes late to school in the mornings, she disappears during lunchtime, and she turns down all their invitations to hang out after clubs are over.

She skips the next photography meeting altogether, and that’s where Mahiru draws the line.

She finds Natsumi in her empty classroom after school, stuffing her PE bag back into her locker. “Go away,” she says over her shoulder, when Mahiru stops in the doorway. “I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Where were you?” Mahiru asks anyway. “I didn’t tolerate absences when I was president. You know Yasui won’t either.”

Natsumi laughs. It’s her fake, musical trill, the one Mahiru has represented so well in her photo albums. “And?” she says. “Yasui can kick me out if he wants. I’m quitting anyway.”

She has no reason to feel blindsided. She saw it coming all week. It still feels like an open-palmed slap across the face. “Quitting?”

“Yeah,” Natsumi says, flinty at the edges. “Quitting. I’m done wasting my time taking other people’s profile pictures.”

“What about your photography?” Mahiru tries. “You’ve got so much potential. You’re really just going to give that up?”

Natsumi’s knuckles go white around the door of her locker. “Don’t patronize me,” she snaps.

“I wasn’t—”

“Like you give a crap about some dinky middle school club, anyway. You’ve got bigger and better things to think about, right? You always knew you were better than us chumps.”

It’s hard not to flinch, when Natsumi glares. There’s always something detached and cold behind it, something that turns the soft roundness of her face harsh. It makes her look like what she is, the product of the world she comes from.

Mahiru has been holding her ground for two years. She doesn’t flinch. “Don’t put words in my mouth,” she says. “I learned a lot at this school’s club. You would too, if you gave it a chance.”

Natsumi slams her locker door hard enough that the sound echoes in the empty classroom. “Fuck off with your holier-than-thou bullshit,” she spits. “I’m so sick of it.”

She jostles Mahiru’s shoulder on her way out the door. Mahiru lets her. Her eyes are stinging and she doesn’t know why.

“This is just like you,” she calls after her. “You start to genuinely like something, and then the second it looks like it might get difficult, you run away from it.”

Natsumi doesn’t look back.

Their argument goes the way of all the others: they both ignore it until the uneasy animosity settles enough that they can talk again. Natsumi quits photography. Mahiru gets ready for graduation.

On the last day of class, they sit together on the bleachers after school and watch Yume run her relay sprints. Mahiru has her camera on her knees. Natsumi has her phone so close to her face the backlight casts a reflection on her chin, even in the daytime.

“Who’s on the front page today?” Mahiru asks.

Natsumi lights up. She lifts her head to answer, and— there.

Mahiru is ready this time. She presses the shutter: her camera clicks, and Natsumi balks.

“Hey! What the hell was that?! You have to warn me first!”

“What would be the point of that?” Mahiru asks. She props the camera up in her lap and clicks back through the display. “I’d never get a good one that way.”

In the photo, Natsumi has her face tilted up from her phone, her eyes set just beyond the camera. Her freckles are brighter against her skin, from all the spring sun the past few weeks. Her hair is lit up from behind and to the left, a golden semi-circle around her face. She’s in the early lift of a smile, barely there.

Everything about her is gentle, soft, and warm. It makes her look like what she is, the part she doesn’t want anyone else to see.

Relief floods Mahiru’s chest. “There,” she says. “This one. That’s it.”

Natsumi leans over to look. Mahiru doesn’t mind until it’s already happening, struck by a sudden, unfamiliar wave of self-consciousness. It’s a good picture. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. She still thinks about covering the display with her palm.

It’s too late, anyway. Natsumi’s forehead is pinched between her eyebrows, and Mahiru’s heart is in her throat.

“I wanted one more picture,” she tries to explain. “Of you, the way I see you. Before I graduated. You know?”

It doesn’t help. The self-consciousness burns in her face and neck. All she can do is wait, eyes on her knees. They’re sitting so close they’re almost bumping Natsumi’s.

“This is how you see me?” Natsumi asks. It’s the first time Mahiru’s ever heard her so quiet, but it doesn’t take away from the force of her. It just shrinks the world to accommodate her.

Mahiru lifts her chin. She nods.

Natsumi glances down. Mahiru thinks maybe she’s looking at the photo again, but then she puts her hand down on the bleacher between them. The edge of her pinky brushes the edge of Mahiru’s and it’s so— so childish, the way she freezes up. She’s about to go to high school. She’s more mature than this.

She licks her lips, without thinking. She watches Natsumi copy her, a peek of pink at the corner of her mouth, and feels breathless. “Na-chan, um…”

Across the field, a girl shrieks with laughter. The relay races are wrapping up. A teacher barks at the students to mind themselves.

The world zooms back out again. It encircles everyone else and all their wandering eyes, Yume and their classmates and the dour teacher. Mahiru’s breath rushes back into her lungs.

“I think they’re finished,” she blurts. “We should go.”

She stands up from the bleacher, and wipes her dusty hands on her skirt. When Yume waves up at her from the track down below, she waves back and hops down to meet her on wobbly legs.

Natsumi doesn’t follow.

The moment goes the way of all the others: they ignore it. There’s time, Mahiru tells herself. It’ll get better.

High school will change everything.

#mahiru koizumi #natsumi kuzuryuu #danganronpa #does this pairing have a ship name?#idk #i lowkey love it though #you caught me anon #sorry this took me a while!!#been elbow deep in brick by brick #memes #asks and answers #anon #sunwrites

12 notes · View notes